The Dog Who Could Fly (10 page)

The Czech airmen stared at the sea apprehensively, trying to spot any trails of turbulence that might betray an inbound torpedo. As for Robert, he was trying to work out how he could save himself and his dog if a torpedo did tear into the
Northmoor
’s hull. His dog couldn’t climb the ship’s ladder, so Robert would have no option but to shimmy down and rescue Ant, very likely as torrents of icy seawater poured into the ruptured hold.

Robert’s mind was pulled away from such dark thoughts by a muffled explosion that rent the air. One of the destroyers was circling a particular spot in the ocean, violent spouts of white water erupting in her wake. It looked as if one of the U-boats had been cornered. As the
Northmoor
’s passengers cheered, the destroyer continued to unleash her depth charges, but Robert’s attention was back to belowdecks again. There, a six-month-old German shepherd with
large, pointy ears was secreted in a steel hold that would be ringing horribly from the subsurface explosions.

Robert hurried below. At the bottom of the ship’s ladder he found his dog pawing desperately at the steel rungs to escape what had become a clanging metal coffin. Robert rejoined him just as a noise like a thunderclap punched through the hull. His fingers clamped tight into the dog’s thick hair as he clasped Ant closer to him. A rapid series of further detonations followed as a second string of depth charges sown by the destroyer churned the ocean into a boiling mass of foam.

Robert knew it was crazy to remain in the hold. If a torpedo did strike the
Northmoor,
the best—perhaps the only—chance of escape lay with those on deck. Down here man and dog would be trapped like the living dead in a steel tomb. Those belowdecks were always the last out and the least likely to survive. As the ship keeled and buckled under the torpedo’s impact, the ladder might sheer off in a cascade of sparks, and there was no other way out. Robert and Ant would be imprisoned together, facing a torrent of water as cold as the grave.

But what fate would await his dog if Robert did get him out on deck and the ship’s crew spotted him? He was a stowaway, pure and simple. For an instant the ferryman’s words echoed through his mind:
We’ve had to stop a full colonel for the same reason today. You haven’t got a hope.
While Robert doubted the
Northmoor
’s crew had the heart to throw his dog overboard, he didn’t doubt that Ant’s discovery would lead to the two of them being parted, perhaps forever. There was no other option: they’d have to take their chances in the hold.

At least Ant’s fear and panic at the underwater explosions seemed to have subsided. The dog he held in his arms seemed completely unperturbed by the ongoing blasts. There wasn’t the slightest whimper or tremble as Ant waited patiently for the unearthly clanging to stop. Robert caught his dog’s eye, their faces close together in the semidarkness.
The look his dog returned him seemed to say:
it’s dark; it’s noisy; but as long as you’re here with me, Dad, I know I’m safe.

It was hours before the all clear was finally sounded. It seemed as if the destroyers’ spirited action had driven off the German seawolves. But no sooner had Robert begun to relax, letting the stress and tension drain out of his system, than the ship’s alarm sounded once again. Semaphore signals flashed from the escorting destroyers, ordering the merchant ships to spread out so as to present more difficult targets for the coming attack. A squadron of the Luftwaffe’s dreaded Junkers 88
Schnellbomber
s—so called because they moved too fast to be intercepted by most Allied warplanes—were inbound.

By now Robert had had enough of sitting out such dangers in the hold. He clambered up the iron ladder and emerged on deck, with Ant wrapped around his shoulders. He’d had a bellyful of crouching in that dark and echoing steel sarcophagus, blindly waiting to die. From the southeast, six of the twin-engine fighter-bombers hurtled out of the gray horizon in an arrow-shaped formation. As Robert flicked his gaze over the
Northmoor
’s deck, ship’s crew and passengers alike had their eyes cast skyward as the enemy warplanes thundered in to attack. As long as their focus remained concentrated on the heavens, Ant’s presence among them should remain undetected.

The destroyers’ antiaircraft guns opened fire, peppering dark splotches of flak across the horizon. The black smoke of the exploding shells erupted in the
Schnellbomber
s’ path. Glowing red trails of tracer threaded a seemingly impenetrable web of fire between the warplanes and the ships. For an instant Robert’s mind was back in France, as his Potez 63 dived over the German lines, flying into a terrifying storm of explosions and bullets—yet he felt little sympathy for those German pilots. As they had been back in his native Czechoslovakia, the Germans were the aggressors here, and he wanted nothing more than to see them blasted out of the sky.

After two failed attempts to break through, the Junkers returned
for one final effort. This time they swept in low across the waves, in an attempt to remain hidden from the British guns until the very last moment. Wild cheers erupted from the decks of the
Northmoor
as one of the sleek aircraft faltered for an instant, a thick trail of black smoke erupting from its port engine. Ponderously, and chased by fire as it went, the crippled
Schnellbomber
turned for France, its sister aircraft following in its wake. For tonight at least, the German enemy seemed to have decided that discretion was the better part of valor.

But the relief of those aboard the
Northmoor
was to be short-lived. As she’d steamed at full speed to avoid the attacking aircraft, the collier had developed engine trouble. All passengers were to be transferred to a sister ship, the
Neuralia
, for the
Northmoor
would be a sitting target for U-boats if her engines failed completely. Of course, this didn’t present a massive drama for all but one of the
Northmoor
’s passengers: Robert. How on earth was he to transfer his beloved dog from one vessel to another without him being discovered?

He settled on a simple solution. He got Ant up on deck again, where man and dog were surrounded by a screen of Czech airmen. Robert knelt down, emptied his kit bag of its contents, which were distributed around the others, grabbed Ant, and lowered him into the bag. With a reassuring pat and a few comforting words he drew the cord tight and tied it off so that Ant couldn’t be seen, but had an airhole through which to breathe.

The
Neuralia
pulled alongside and a gangway was lowered, linking the two ships. As swiftly as possible the
Northmoor
’s passengers made their way across to the sister vessel. This was the most dangerous of moments, for the two vessels would make a juicy target for any hidden U-boats. All was going smoothly until Robert reached the gangway. He sauntered across to the
Neuralia
, trying to act as relaxed as he could, but just as he stepped onto the waiting ship his dog chose to wriggle his head out of the opening.

Robert and his dog found themselves face-to-face with three British naval officers and one Czech interpreter. Ant gazed at the four of them happily, his tail thumping out a wag of welcome deep inside the bag. They stared back at him dumbfounded, glancing from dog to Robert and back again. He knew this was it: he’d been caught red-handed trying to smuggle his dog aboard the ship. A sharp reprimand and confiscation of his beloved Ant were sure to follow.

But the reaction of the British officers could not have surprised him more. One of them let out a loud guffaw.

“By Jove! A stowaway!” He reached forward for the dog. “Come on, old chap, out you come! Let’s have a look at you, you handsome beast!”

The officer eased Ant out of the bag and gave him a comforting pat. He glanced at Robert, amusement creasing the lines around his eyes.

“You’ll have to feed him up a bit . . . He’s a right bloody skinnyribs!”

It was true then. What Robert had heard so many times was indeed the case: the British were a nation of hopeless dog lovers! Robert did the only thing he could think of, so overcome was he with relief: he snapped off his smartest salute to the British officer, then went to join his friends, with Ant trotting at his heels.

In contrast to the
Northmoor
, the
Neuralia
—a former cruise ship—offered real comfort, in spite of the fact that her cabins were so overcrowded. For Robert and his dog—who no longer needed to remain hidden—the onward passage to Britain promised to be one of luxury compared to the
Northmoor
’s sooty hold. Or at least it should have been, had it not been for the other stowaway on board—a monkey!

The
Neuralia
was already carrying twenty-two Czech airmen who were likewise fleeing France, and the new arrivals were reunited with many old acquaintances. One was a good friend of Robert’s
called Anderle. As matters transpired, Robert and Anderle shared an extra bond aboard the
Neuralia
: each had an animal stowaway in his charge. But for Robert’s dog and Anderle’s pet monkey it was to prove hatred at first sight.

From its perch above the cabin door the monkey leaped upon Ant as soon as the dog entered, shrieking, clawing, and biting at him for all it was worth. Ant seemed so astonished to be challenged to his first physical fight—and this from an animal the likes of which he had never laid eyes on—that all he was able to do was charge around the cabin with the monkey clinging on like a rodeo star, howling for his master and protector.

By the time Anderle had managed to grab the monkey’s leash and drag the animal off, both Ant and Robert had been bitten. They headed for the bathroom to clean their wounds, only to find that Anderle and the beast had got there ahead of them. A second skirmish ensued, after which Robert decided to settle for the deck. He and Ant ended up taking a position in the open air adjacent to a gun mounted on the stern.

For much of the rest of that day Ant peered over the side of the ship in fascination as dolphins rode the waves churned up by their passing. He seemed to appreciate their company far more than he had the psychotic monkey. That night he slept curled up with Robert, keeping both of them warm as they dozed through the coldest hours. Occasionally, Ant woke Robert with whimpers as he dreamed, and Robert figured evil primates very likely loomed large in his nightmares.

Two days before the
Neuralia
was due to dock in Britain the owners of all animal stowaways were called before the ship’s captain, to be informed via an interpreter about the fate of their pets. In addition to Ant and the mad monkey, Robert noticed that several more dogs appeared to have been smuggled aboard.

“Before you land,” the captain warned them, “all animals must be
handed over to the ship’s authorities. They will be cared for properly. Provided you can pay the fees, they will be sent into quarantine for six months. After that you can reclaim them.”

This was the first Robert had heard about Ant’s probable fate, and the first inkling he had of a
six-month
separation, not to mention any fees.

“What happens if we have no money, sir?” asked a soldier, pretty much speaking for them all.

“Then I’m afraid your pet will have to be destroyed,” the captain replied. Seeing the shock on the faces ranged before him, he added in the most sympathetic voice he could muster: “I can assure you it will be done in a humane manner.”

Robert checked with his fellow animal smugglers on the likely quarantine fees. He consulted his fellow airmen and between them they could muster only a few French francs, plus the ten shillings each had been given by the RAF’s welfare people upon arrival in Gibraltar. Even after passing a hat around for donations, Robert garnered barely enough to pay the fees for three weeks. He couldn’t believe the situation he and Ant found themselves in: having survived so much together, and coming so close to Britain, was his dog to be destroyed for want of money to pay
quarantine fees
?

It was such an ignoble fate for Ant—who in Robert’s eyes was truly the world’s most fearless dog, not to mention a flying ace, a war veteran, and an aristocrat of the breed. No way could he—or any of his fellow Czech airmen—let this happen. Seated in a circle on the open deck, they kept their voices low as they discussed their options.

“The dog’s one of us,” Joska reasoned. “He’s an
airman
. And his circumstances are utterly different from any other animal aboard this ship. He’s the squadron’s dog and a fellow flier, and for all we know we eight are all that’s left of the squadron. We stick together, come what may.”

Uncle Vlasta nodded gravely. “Absolutely. All for one, and one for all.”

“Count me in,” Karel confirmed.

The others added their words of support.

“But how can we stick together?” Robert asked. “They know I have him, they’ve read me the rule book, and they’ll be watching.”

The discussion went around and around. Ant sat with them, cocking his head to one side and then the other and thumping his tail on the deck every time his name was mentioned. Robert could sense how confident his dog was in their collective ability to save him—if only his master shared such confidence.

They had been discussing various stratagems, but nothing seemed to offer their dog even the barest chance of escape. Robert cradled his head in his hands for a moment, resting his face against that of his dog. He stared into the trusting eyes of his faithful companion:
My boy, I do not have the slightest idea what we’re going to do with you now.

As if in answer Ant rose to his feet, wandered over to Robert’s kit bag, and started to root out the contents. He crawled inside and glanced back at his master, and in that instant he seemed to communicate to Robert the beginnings of a plan:
Remember—all for one, and one for all.

“Hold on a minute . . .” Robert glanced at the others, the germ of an idea making his eyes sparkle. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t there a huge pile of our luggage waiting to be off-loaded?”