CHAPTER 13
Zero Hour

June 7, 1917

Seconds later, the whole world erupted. Boom! A huge explosion split the air. This was a new sound, one much larger than the howitzers we were used to. Boom! The second blast shook the ground beneath us, and the noise was so loud I cowered closer to Private Jameson. He bent over me as dirt and rocks hurtled into the sky and then fell to earth.

Boom! A third explosion ripped the sky and plumes of flame and smoke burst into the air.

Stunned by the thundering blasts, I shook all over.

“It’s the mines exploding on the ridge under the Germans,” he whispered. “I heard rumors that our engineers have been digging tunnels for months.”

An intense barrage of bullets followed the eruptions, as if ten thousand rifles were firing at once. Zero hour.

I scrambled from underneath the soldier. Dust and smoke swirled around our heads. He coughed and then stood shakily to peer from the hole. Though the sun had been rising, it seemed as dark as night. “Dog 204, I am as lost as a baby,” he said in a low voice. “You’re going to have to save me one more time.”

Private Jameson crouched low and grabbed my collar. I led us toward the British trench. He winced with each step and I could tell he was in pain. But he did not stop to rest. We scurried across the scorched earth like frightened mice. Through the smoke, I could see ghostly images of soldiers rushing past us toward the German line. They stooped, fired, stood, and then disappeared into the gray haze.

No one paid any attention to a limping man and a dog.

Distress flares rose from the German line as the Allied artillery kept up a fierce hail of bullets. Then I heard shells rocket toward the British lines as if the Germans were finally fighting back. Several whistled close by, and the soldier and I flattened against the ground. Booms and bursts of dirt beyond us told me the enemy shells were hitting their targets.

Jumping up again, we continued across the barren land. Crack-crack! The sharp retort of rifles came from behind us. Crack!

Suddenly, I felt an intense burning above my shoulder near my collar. My right front leg grew numb, and I stumbled. Private Jameson held me up. “Courage, 204.”

Hobbling along together, we reached the barbed wire that protected the Allied trenches. All was silent beyond the wire barrier, as if every British and Australian soldier had raced forward to attack the enemy.

Ignoring the pain in my shoulder, I hurried through the gap in the wire. Private Jameson followed close behind. On the other side, I searched for signs of the trench. Had I gone in the wrong direction? I turned and my paws sunk deep into soft ground of a new crater. Startled, I jumped backward. I sniffed the air, smelling gunpowder, smoke, fresh dirt…and the wounded.

Yet there was no one in sight.

The gunfire had moved into the distance, and the nightingales began to sing again. A ray of sun peeked through the haze. The private had stopped beside me. “The trench should be right here,” he whispered, as confused as I was.

Then I sensed what the last barrage of German shells had hit. Private Kent, Private Reeves, Tweed, Beast—had they all been buried? Furiously, I started digging.

Private Jameson gasped. Falling on all fours, he, too, began to scrabble at the dirt like a dog. When he unearthed a flat piece of metal, he used it like a shovel.

The dirt was laced with sharp rocks and shrapnel. My paws began to bleed. My shoulder ached as if it had been crushed by a wagon wheel. But I kept digging.

“I found something!” Private Jameson called. An elbow poked up from the earth.

We dug together. Too slow. Too slow. I had to run for help.

I raced in the direction the other dogs and handlers had gone just hours ago. I had to find someone, but thick smoked filled the air, and I couldn’t see any sign of life.

“Darling!” Sergeant Hanson emerged from the haze. Behind him, a group of soldiers and orderlies hurried toward me as well. They carried shovels and entrenching tools as if they already knew about the cave-in.

I led them back to Private Jameson. He’d uncovered a soldier lying face down in the dirt, his arms sprawled as if he’d fallen from the sky.

It was Private Kent. I barked, not caring about orders, not caring about my pain. I heard a muffled return bark deep within the earth. Tweed!

“There are more!” Private Jameson called. With everyone digging, we quickly freed Private Kent. Sergeant Hanson turned him over. I licked the dirt from his cheeks, which were warm. Sergeant Hanson felt his pulse. “He’s alive. Let’s get him transported.”

“Hello!” Sergeant Hanson called into a hole in the earth. Crouching, I peered into the dark. Private Reeves and two stretcher bearers looked up at us from a pocket of air protected by a section of the parapet that had not collapsed. Tweed was in her handler’s arms. All four were coated in dirt, except for their eyes.

I wagged my tail. Private Reeves grinned. “Lord, you are a welcome sight!”

“We’ll have you out in a shake, mates,” Sergeant Hanson said. He backed up to give the other soldiers room. They dug carefully, not wanting to cause another cave-in. Private Jameson’s face was ashen. The bandage on his leg was stained red. “Your war dog saved my life,” he told Sergeant Hanson.

“She’s our best.” The sergeant frowned at the private. “You need medical attention. The orderly will escort you back to the RAP.”

I went back to digging. The burning in my shoulder spread until my body was wracked with tremors, but I couldn’t quit. Finally the hole was wide enough to pull the soldiers and Tweed out.

Tweed greeted me with a lick and nosed my shoulder. I knew she smelled my wound. I jerked away, desperate to uncover the others.

“It was Private Kent who saved us,” Private Reeves said as he was hoisted out. “He heard the shells coming. He positioned himself on top of us so we wouldn’t be buried.”

I limped over to check on Private Kent, but the stretcher bearers were trotting off with him toward a horse-drawn ambulance. As I started after them, Sergeant Hanson called me back. “No, Darling. There’s nothing you can do now. They’ll take care of him.”

I hesitated.

“You are needed here to find the wounded,” he continued, sounding tired. “Messines Ridge has been taken—but the battle is not yet over.”

I looked at the ambulance, longing to go with Private Kent. The sergeant snapped a leash on my collar. “Stay. That’s an order, Darling.”

As much as I wanted to follow my handler, I could not disobey. I let out a whine, deep and sad.

Then I collapsed at Sergeant Hanson’s feet.