CHAPTER 5
War Dog 204

Beginning of April 1917

Night. Dark and starless. The lorry rumbled up the road and then slowed on a desolate strip of beach. Sergeant Hanson stood in the open-air back of the truck and I stood with him. The handlers sat on benches along the sides, their dogs in front of them.

“This will be the first real test for the dogs,” Sergeant Hanson said, swaying with the truck’s movement. “Messenger dogs have proved themselves to be four to five times faster than a man when delivering dispatches in war areas. Let’s see how this group does.”

I recognized the hound called Beast, and Tweed, the sad-eyed Airedale. The others were unknown to me. After three weeks of learning commands—sit, stay, heel, retrieve, down, begone—I no longer snarled at strange dogs. I no longer strained at my rope. But my thoughts were still on Katherine and Robert and my family back home, and I hoped that tonight I would get my chance to run away.

“Their keepers are back at the kennels, waiting for us to release the dogs,” the sergeant continued. “We’ll see which one makes it back in record time.”

“And who gets lost in the mudflats,” one of the handlers added.

“And ’oo ends up in Shoeburyness begging at the butcher’s,” another chimed in. Everyone laughed.

Sergeant Hanson didn’t even smile. “Messenger dogs must feel a keen delight in carrying out their duties. Tonight will determine which ones will continue training—and which will be destroyed.”

The laughter died down.

Tweed whimpered. She pined for her cozy bed by the fire as much as I pined for my children and freedom.

“No torches are allowed to light the way, so tread carefully through the marsh. We’ll spread out. Smythe, McCann, and Reeves—head west up the beach. Harlow, Jasper, and Donnelly—head east. When I blow the whistle, release your dog with the command ‘begone.’”

We jumped from the lorry, and the other men and dogs silently disappeared into the night. I trotted down the beach by Sergeant Hanson’s side. He was silent too. I had grown numb to the constant barking of dogs and orders, so this quiet night was a treat. It reminded me of many nights in Cosham. After the family was in bed, I would wiggle under the picket fence and join Rags. We would explore the village, tipping over rubbish bins and lunging at stray cats.

What had happened to my old pal? Had Constable George finally caught him? Or worse, had he been shot? My heart saddened at the thought. But soon I would be back in Cosham to find the answer. And when I returned, I would sneak bones to Rags every day. And I wouldn’t run away from my family ever again.

Sergeant Hanson turned off the beach and into the mudflats. My paws sunk deep, and spiny marsh grasses snagged my fur. We wound past fallen branches and gnarled stumps. I heard the shrill whoo-whoo of the train whistle in the distance. I turned my head toward the sound. How long would it take me to reach Cosham from here?

“Darling.” A firm tug on the leash got my attention. Sergeant Hanson kneeled in the mud in front of me. His eyes were solemn as he held my furry head in his hands. “This is the last test for you. You are smart and swift. You have learned every command faster than any dog at the school. You would be a fine messenger but alas, your heart is not in it. You are too lightweight for pulling artillery and too shy for sentry duty. The major has identified you as a dog he expects to fail tonight. And if you do”—his voice caught—“you will not return to Robert and Katherine.”

He removed my collar and slid a different one around my neck. This one had a metal canister attached to it. I knew what the special collar meant: “return to my keeper.”

“Private Kent is waiting for you and your message. He has liver treats and a bowl of cool water,” Sergeant Hanson told me. “Now it is up to you.” Unhooking the leash, he stepped back, gave the whistle one shrill blow, and ordered. “Begone.”

I took off, running toward the sound of the train whistle. This was the first time I had been turned loose so far from the kennels and the first time I had drilled at night. No one would see me if I ran away. If I raced swiftly, I should reach Cosham by sunup.

A loud crash from the beach made me whirl. Beast lunged through the tall grass, passing me without a glance as he headed for the kennels. I paused, watching him go. My thoughts went to Private Kent, who fed me morning and night, brushed my fur, and cleaned my crate—all with a gentle pat and kind words.

My thoughts turned back to Robert and Katherine. I remembered racing free through the village with Rags. The canister and “return” meant nothing to me. Once again I started for the railway.

Then my ears picked up a cry. I stopped in my tracks. It was Sergeant Hanson. I would recognize his voice anywhere. The cry came again, and this time I heard his distress.

Without a second thought, I plunged back the way I had come. I found him sitting up, half hidden in the grass. One leg was stretched in front of him at an odd angle. His face was pale. “Aye, Darling, it’s you. I’m glad you came back, but I was hoping one of the men would hear me. It looks like I’ve gone and twisted my leg falling over this wretched stump in the dark.”

I didn’t need him to say any more. I didn’t need to hear “begone” or “return.” The pain in his face told me everything.

I licked his hand where it clutched his knee and then raced for the kennels and Private Kent.

Between the beach and barracks were many obstacles. We had practiced leaping ditches and gates and crawling through barbed wire and tunnels. Once I made it through the marsh, I came upon some scruffy bushes and a pen. Goats! My nose twitched at their pungent smell. One stamped the ground and shook his horns when I peered through the slatted fence.

Herd them, chase them, rang in my head. But this time I couldn’t. I had to ignore my instincts and get help for Sergeant Hanson.

On the other side of the goat pen was a forest of sea-wind stunted trees. Once through it, I would find the barracks and Private Kent. The yellow glow of a lantern spurred me onward.

Private Kent’s face lit up when he saw me. I saw no sign of Beast, Tweed, or the other dogs.

“Good girl,” he praised. “I knew you could do it. Even though the other dogs came in long before you,” he added, sounding gloomy. He reached for my collar, but I danced out of his way. His brows lowered. “Come ’ere, Darling. I ’ave your liver treat.”

I didn’t want liver. I wanted Private Kent to follow me. I knew not to bark. “Silent” had been drilled into us from the beginning. So I twirled around and I dashed back toward the woods.

“Darling.” His voice was firmer this time. “Come!”

Just then Private Carlton walked up with Beast. “I do believe Beast was first,” the handler said with proud smile. “And Darling last. And now she’s playing a game of chase?”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into ’er,” Private Kent said.

Just then the lorry rumbled down the lane. The handlers jumped out. “Is Sergeant Hanson back?” the driver called out the open window.

Private Kent strode up. “Wasn’t ’e supposed to return with you?”

“We couldn’t find him. We thought he might have walked cross country for some reason.”

Private Kent’s eyes widened under his cap as he looked down at me. “So that’s what you’re trying to tell me, eh, girl? Something’s ’appened to the sergeant?”

This time I obeyed when he called me into the back of the lorry along with two other men. The canister and its message were forgotten. When we reached the beach, I jumped out before the truck stopped. I dashed off, following Sergeant Hanson’s and my scents.

“Slow down,” Private Kent struggled to keep up with me. Darting left, I headed into the marsh.

“Over here.” Sergeant Hanson’s cry was soft, but my keen ears easily heard it. When I reached him, I nuzzled him and he smiled weakly. His face was white, his breathing shallow. The sound of rustling and thrashing from the direction of the beach told me that Private Kent was not far behind. Still, I didn’t bark. I left Sergeant Hanson for a brief moment to alert Private Kent to where we were, and then went back to the sergeant.

“Found ’im!” Kent hollered. Quickly he bent and felt Sergeant Hanson’s pulse. “Looks like you’re going into shock. Glad we got ’ere when we did.”

“Leg’s all messed up.” Sergeant Hanson tried to smile as he struggled to sit up. “I didn’t follow my own orders to tread carefully.”

“Save your strength,” Private Kent told him. “Private Jeeves ’as a medical kit. We’ll get a Tommy splint on that leg and get you out of ’ere. Might not be broken, right?”

I lay down beside Sergeant Hanson, warming his chilled body. All thoughts of Cosham had flown from my head.

“Darling ’ere brought us,” Private Kent said. “She’s no messenger dog, that’s a fact. She came in dead last. But might it be she ’as a different calling?” He slipped off his tunic and laid it across Sergeant Hanson’s chest. “I’ve heard they’re training mercy dogs. Dogs that ’elp find the wounded. What do you think of that? Sergeant?” He patted the man’s cheeks as if he were a dog. “Stay awake, now. Don’t want you losing consciousness.”

I looked up as the others arrived. Private Jeeves slipped his pack from his back as he walked. Another soldier carried a stretcher under his arm.

“Darling’ll wear a red cross on her jacket and ’elp soldiers at the Front,” Kent continued as Private Jeeves kneeled and opened the bag, “just like she ’elped you, right Sergeant? And I’d be proud to train ’er.”

“As I would…” Sergeant Hanson’s voice trailed off and his eyes drifted shut. His fingers laced themselves in my ruff. He didn’t let go, and I didn’t leave his side until he was safely on the stretcher.