The Dog Who Could Fly (36 page)

Rescued from no-man’s-land, wounded twice in action, shot by an irate farmer, impaled on iron railings, and frozen half to death—Antis proved himself a real survivor.

I
n the early hours of the morning Antis saw the shadowy form of the duty service policeman moving around the hut, quietly waking Robert and the rest of his crew. Not knowing that the normal routine with the dog had been changed, he came over and roused Antis too.

“Come on, old boy,” he whispered. “Up you get. It’s flight duty time.”

Antis didn’t know what to do. He gazed from the kindly policeman to his master, trying to gauge his mood. Maybe he was back to his normal self ? Maybe he wouldn’t rebuff him anymore with harsh words and gestures? Haltingly, Antis rose from his rug and padded
across toward his master’s bed. He placed his big, powerful head on Robert’s chest. Robert had yet to awaken fully, and he could feel Antis’s eyes on him, pleading to be loved and cherished as had always been the way before.

Robert knew that this was crunch time. His instinctive desire was to take the dog’s head in his hands and ruffle him behind the ears, just as he had done to the tiny little puppy he’d found in no-man’s-land what seemed like a lifetime ago. But if he weakened now he knew that would be it: any attempt to break the unbreakable bond would be finished.

Instead, he forced himself to get up and take Antis back to his blanket. “Stay there. Be a good dog when I’m gone, and remember—you’re with your new friends now.”

Antis flopped onto his belly, looking as if his master had given him the worst thrashing of his life. In fact, he would have far preferred a beating. This inexplicable psychological torment was killing him. Robert dressed hurriedly, trying to avoid looking at his dog, and rushed out of the room without a word or gesture of goodbye.

That night the weather closed in again, and the Liberator was forced to divert to the Shetlands for a second time. It was fully forty-eight hours before Robert and crew were able to find a weather window to get safely in to RAF Tain. Once they were landed, Robert’s first thoughts were for his dog. In truth, his worries over Antis had plagued him for the last two days, even during the hours they had been flying their patrol.

Rybar, Vaverka, and the others were waiting for him, and Robert could tell by their dark looks that it wasn’t good news.

“Just like I said, it’s impossible,” Vaverka began. “It’s no good. He won’t eat or exercise without you. We tried everything we could think of but all to no avail. We were fools to imagine it might be otherwise.”

“But surely he’s eaten something?” Robert exclaimed. “It’s been two whole days . . .”

“Not a damn thing!” Rybar cut in angrily. “And the only time he’s
been out is at night to pee, and then he had us scared half to death. The amount of blood he’s passing is truly terrifying. You need to give it up, Robert. It’s cruel and unfair. And I tell you something else: we can’t stand it anymore, even if you can!”

Robert hurried to the hut. He discovered Antis lying on his blanket exactly where he had left him, his eyes open but with that glazed look in them once more. He showed few other signs of life, and if he recognized Robert he showed little evidence of doing so. Robert knelt and held his dog’s head in his hands, gazing into his eyes. But for the first time ever Antis showed no sign of knowing who his master might be.

Tears rolled down Robert’s cheeks as he tried to get some kind of reaction—anything—from his dog. “I’m back . . . I’m back . . .” he whispered in Antis’s ear. “That bloody damn fool of a man who calls himself your master . . . Well, he’s back. Wake up. Say something to me. I’m back, old boy, I’m back. Show me you know who I am . . .”

As Robert pleaded with his dog, something at last seemed to register. With what little strength remained, Antis raised one paw shakily. Hot tears pricking his eyes, Robert took the paw, held it gently for a second, then lowered it to the blanket again.

“That kind of loyalty and devotion—well, it’s something that no one could ever break,” Rybar remarked from behind them. “We should have known it all along.”

“My poor old Antis,” Robert whispered, ignoring Rybar’s hard but fair words. “I know I’ve done you wrong, but forgive me. It was for your sake, boy, but I know now that you couldn’t understand. And believe me, it’s been torture for me, perhaps almost as much as it has been for you. But it’s all over now. I promise you, whatever the future may hold, we will meet it together, you and I. Come on, get better. If I lose you now, Lord knows I won’t be able to live with myself.”

Antis managed to raise his head and place it on Robert’s knee. He seemed to know now that his horrible, nightmarish trial was over. His master was back. They were together again. He settled himself,
knowing in his heart of hearts that life was again worth fighting for. He drifted off to sleep, allowing nature to have her healing way.

A short while later Vaverka brought over a bowl of oatmeal. It was covered in thick cream, and though Antis’s throat was as parched and dry as sandpaper, Robert managed to spoon a good deal of it down him. Once the bowl was empty, he allowed his dog to sleep again. He had a three-day flying break ahead of him, and he vowed to spend every waking minute concentrated on making his dog well.

For seventy-two hours he never left his dog’s side. Each meal he fed to Antis by hand, and he made doubly sure he was taking his medicine. During the two days he had been away Antis had refused even that, and Robert had no doubt that his dog had been dying of a broken heart. On the third day a feeble winter sun broke through the clouds and Robert managed to get Antis out for a short walk. It seemed that the flying dog of war was on the road to recovery.

•  •  •

The weeks passed. Spring succeeded winter. Antis seemed to regain much of his former vigor and with time he stopped passing blood. In some strange and unfathomable way the days that Robert had spent trying to break the two of them apart didn’t seem to have been wasted, after all. Now, when Robert flew missions Antis seemed to understand that something different was required of him. As if sensing the lesson that lay behind the recent torture, he’d go with Robert to dispersal, watch for his takeoff, and once the Liberator had disappeared into the skies to the east, he would return to the warmth of their hut, and wait. It had been so very painful, but the lesson that was the key to Antis’s survival seemed to have been learned.

•  •  •

Robert served out the remainder of the war flying missions in his sturdy Liberator over the North Atlantic. He carried out convoy
escorts, which proved to be long periods of inactivity, interspersed with intense moments of action as they repulsed enemy attacks, from under or on the sea, or by air. They were ordered to search for enemy submarines and lone enemy ships trying to run the Royal Navy’s blockade of Germany. On the rare occasion that they spotted a hated U-boat, the Liberator would pounce to attack with cannons, sixty-pound rocket projectiles, and depth charges.

But on none of those missions was Antis permitted, or even able, to fly. The flying dog of war had truly been grounded by those long periods of exposure waiting faithfully for his master’s return. Antis continued to serve as 311 Squadron’s mascot, of course, and by now his fame was redoubled. Not only was he the flying dog of war, he was a veteran of countless missions and injuries at the hands of the enemy and had many times come back from the very brink of death.

The dog’s fame continued to spread, and it was in this way that he came to the attention of BBC reporters, who proceeded to file reports on the amazing veteran flying dog of war—one whom injury had finally confined to the ground.

In one of the last combat missions flown from RAF Tain, the crew of a patrolling Liberator spotted a U-boat with its conning tower clearly showing above the waves. Visibility was good, and from twenty miles out the aircraft began its attacking run. The Liberator dropped a series of depth charges that straddled the boat, its conning tower disappearing among the plumes of blasted seawater. The aircraft circled above the stricken submarine, seeing further explosions pierce the sea and oil spewing up to the surface. Finally, the upturned hull of the stricken U-boat was visible just below the waves.

•  •  •

By now momentous events were sweeping across mainland Europe. The Czech uprising had begun, one that aimed to expel the German occupiers, and calls were made for the Allies to come to the assistance
of the Czech resistance. Robert was eager to go to the aid of his fellow countrymen. When the order came through for all Liberator crews to be on standby to fly missions into Czechoslovakia, Robert was ecstatic. With its range of three thousand miles, the Liberator was one of the few Allied aircraft with the ability to fly missions over distant Prague.

Many of the aircrew camped out in their aircraft, so eager were they to fly to their compatriots’ aid. Robert took to sleeping in his Liberator, with Antis snuggled up to him for warmth. If they were suddenly ordered to go to the assistance of Robert’s countrymen, Adamek had strict instructions to take Antis from the aircraft and keep him safe until Robert’s return. During those final days of the conflict in Europe, the last thing Robert could bear was to lose his veteran dog of war.

As matters transpired, the end of the war overtook the need for 311 Squadron to fly to their Czech brethren’s aid. Even so, Germany’s unconditional surrender didn’t bring an immediate end to their flying duties. The aircrew of Coastal Command had to continue its relentless pursuit of the die-hard U-boat commanders who refused to accept the orders of German High Command to surrender and remained determined to pursue a futile war of their own.

The Liberators continued to fly out of Tain, attacking hostile vessels and rounding up those U-boats that were surfacing and looking for Allied forces to whom they could surrender. On May 10, 1945, four Liberators were out on patrol when they spotted two U-boats on the surface flying the black flag of surrender. They circled the vessels and took photographs so British surface ships could be vectored onto them. The U-boats were escorted into Stavanger, the nearest Allied base, or to the nearest British port.

On June 2, the Liberator that Robert was flying finally received its last recall to base. It had been searching for U-boats along the Norwegian coast, but all of a sudden the missions that had seemed as if they would never end were over.

On this most momentous of occasions, Antis was waiting faithfully as the graceful form of the four-engine Liberator came arrowing in from the clear summer skies. Long before it was audible to human hearing, Antis had pricked up his ears—though one remained semi-erect due to the old shrapnel injury.

He knew that his master was inbound, and that it would soon be time to do his very final war dance of joy.

Epilogue

Antis’s Dickin Medal—the Animal Victoria Cross—“For outstanding courage, devotion to duty, and life-saving actions while serving with the Royal Air Force . . .”

O
n August 15, 1945, Robert Bozdech flew with Antis at his feet in one of a formation of Liberators as he and fellow surviving Czech airmen returned to their homeland. They passed over Germany, and there was no flak being fired at them anymore, nor any
danger of being shot down. They received a heroes’ welcome, and Robert set about rebuilding his life in his native land, along with his veteran friend and survivor, Antis, the now-famous dog.

But, sadly, less than three years later Robert would be forced to flee from Czechoslovakia for a second time, in a daring and death-defying escape. The country had fallen under the control of the Soviet Union, and the Communist purges targeted anyone with links to the West—of whom RAF airmen were seen to be among the foremost targets. By then Robert was married, and he and his Czech wife had a baby son, but he knew that if he stayed in the country his life and maybe even theirs were in very real danger.

Under threat of arrest by the dreaded secret police, he was forced to leave without breathing a word to his wife, for fear that she would be punished once his absence was discovered. The one being he refused to leave behind was his veteran war dog. During a knife-edge escape into the territory of the former enemy, Germany, Antis would save the life of Robert and his fellow escapees on more than one occasion, by warning them of approaching Communist patrols, and in one case by attacking and driving off the soldiers.

From Germany, man and dog made their way to the UK, and Robert rejoined the Royal Air Force. A year later Antis was formally recognized as a war hero, when he was awarded the Dickin Medal, more commonly known as the “Animal Victoria Cross.” Field Marshal Wavell read out the citation at a ceremony attended by Antis, Robert, and many friends and fans of the famous flying dog of war: “It gives me great pleasure to make this presentation for outstanding courage, devotion to duty, and life-saving actions on several occasions while serving with the Royal Air Force and French Air Force from 1940 to ’45, both in England and overseas . . .”

In 1951, Robert Bozdech was granted British nationality, and he formally changed his name to Robert V. Bozdech (V for Václav). In August 1953, after being ill for some months, Antis passed away and
was buried at the Animal Cemetery in Ilford. The gravestone has a simple inscription: “Antis, D.M., Alsatian, died 11th August 1953, aged 14 years.”