A Dog With a Destiny (4 page)

The weather always controlled the activities of the recon squadrons. When the storms set in, the planes could be grounded for days even weeks leaving the men anxious and in need of something to distract them from reality. This is where Smoky came into her own. She loved to swim with Bill and it was the perfect way to cool down in temperatures reaching 54°C inside their tent. She was too small to dive into the ocean with everyone else but a four-foot-deep bomb crater proved to be the perfect paddling pool for little Smoky. She loved having her own private pool on the beach, not to mention all the attention she attracted from her admirers who loved to see her enjoy herself. But, the salt water was not kind to her coat which was, at long last, starting to grow out of the GI crop that she had when Bill first met her. She was now looking more like the Yorkie pictured in the
National Geographic
magazine except the ocean salt was setting hard on each strand making it course and matted. But this was nothing Bill couldn’t solve with a daily freshwater bath: half a helmet full for the bath and half for the rinse. Perfect.

It was Smoky’s attitude to life in a war zone that was so important to the men. It didn’t seem to matter how hot it was and how fiercely the sun reflected off the white coral surroundings or how bad-tempered people became due to the white heat or the drowning rain or sheer fear of what could happen next, Smoky was always happy. It was as if she refused to let any of the harshness get her down. She was happy to find shelter under Bill’s cot or enjoy a cooling bath. If she had the energy she would chase birds or, if she felt like really making mischief, she could see if the monkey, Colonel Turbo, was up for a fight. Colonel Turbo was the mascot of 25th Photo Recon Squadron and he had a reputation for being a nasty piece of work. The pilot who had bought the rhesus monkey from a zoo in New Mexico when the men were on manoeuvres, had died when his plane crashed so the squadron decided to keep Turbo as their mascot in memory of the lost pilot. It was a lovely idea and an admirable act of respect but it was something they would grow to regret as Turbo settled into his destructive and aggressive ways. If he wasn’t running rampage in the tents stealing food and eating cigarettes he was most likely biting the hand that fed him. And almost every man in the squadron had the marks to prove it.

When Smoky first met Turbo, the 26th Recon was warned that the monkey would mangle the dog – Turbo had a track record for doing that with dogs. Everyone watched with interest. Bill knew that Turbo was tethered on a length of rope so he set Smoky down where the monkey’s leash was at full stretch. After a moment or two of sniffing each other from a distance Turbo suddenly flew at Smoky sinking his teeth into her nose. Yelping with pain and shock Smoky turned from her aggressor and then suddenly turned back and flew at him scratching his nose. Nothing and no one had ever done that to him before and Turbo scampered up his favourite tree to lick his wounds. He sat there for a few moments just touching his nose and then checking his paw for blood before dashing back down to run at Smoky. Turning on him again, she sent the confused monkey back to his tree. He refused to come down. No dog had ever threatened him or hurt him as Smoky had done and it was the start of a love/hate relationship that was to last until Turbo carried out his final act of destruction. It was hoped that he would die of natural causes as he was something of a mascot hero in the Pacific and his squadron was always faithful to him.

Smoky always thought it was good sport to chase and chastise Turbo, knowing he was on the end of a rope. But his temper grew worse and the tidal wave of destruction he created when he managed to free himself from the rope began to annoy more people. One day, a shot was fired close to the camp and after that Turbo disappeared. It was a sad end to the career of an animal that had seen so much active service.

Smoky’s antics with Colonel Turbo were always entertaining but one of the major distractions from the work of war were Smoky’s training sessions. Bill had already taught her a handful of tricks but there were many more he wanted her to perform for this captive audience. Walking a tightrope, blindfolded, was the next on the list and for that he needed the help of some of his colleagues. In no time at all, a platform for the wires had been constructed and two aircraft control cables stretched between the pipes. The whole structure was then secured into the coral for safety. Bill and Smoky repeated the routine on the rope over and over again and all the time Smoky gained confidence until she had enough trust in Bill to do the walk blindfolded with only his voice to guide her. Once that was perfected, Bill set his sights on seeing Smoky walk on a barrel. Finding the barrel was the easy part as the chemicals used in the photo lab were shipped in fifty-five gallon barrels so all Bill had to do was have one cut down in size and then have it painted circus style. Bill knew this was a complex trick but he also knew that Smoky was intelligent and would master it. Perhaps he was expecting too much too soon from her. Perhaps it was the 37°C heat that was getting to her – she kept falling on her side and she looked so exhausted. Bill decided to give her a rest and he set Smoky down on his cot to sleep. A little while later, he noticed something small and black lying next to Smoky. He couldn’t quite make it out but as he drew closer to the blob on the bed he could see that it was moving. It was a puppy. Smoky’s puppy and he didn’t even know she was pregnant. Bill was in shock. It was great news but so unexpected. He recalled someone saying that Smoky had found a boyfriend during the time Bill was making his way back from hospital in Nadzab. He had dismissed the idea as a joke but obviously it was true. The likely father was Duke, another Terrier. This one belonged to Bill’s friend, John Hembury, and there was sure to be lots of interest from his camp too. Bill decided to call the puppy Topper and Smoky proved to be a good and attentive mother. The men celebrated the arrival of Smoky’s puppy in style, thanks to a little help of a delivery by a B-25 Mitchell bomber (a Fat Cat). The B-25s were often used to test flying times and, in their stripped down form (with no armour plating and no weapons), they were filled with cargo such as cases of alcohol, fresh fruit and meat and all the other items it was impossible to acquire on Biak. Sometimes the plane was so full of goodies that the bomb doors would not close! It was a good job the latest drop was a generous one as people came from miles around to see the new arrival. They wondered how a dog that was only four pounds in weight herself could produce a pup. Everyone was happy to toast the youngster’s arrival with a class of homemade Cola made from Coke syrup, water and compressed aircraft oxygen tank. It was improvised and inspired. Everyone loved it and Topper was welcomed into the 26th Photo Squadron in style many times over. Smoky joined in each toast with an enthusiastic bark.

On 16 September 1944, Bill was informed that his flying status had been confirmed. As a graduate of aerial photo school, he was eligible for combat duty and this provided him with the opportunity to leave the photo lab and earn the required 300 combat hours (time spent ‘where enemy fire is probable and expected’). A young lieutenant from 3rd Emergency Rescue Squadron (3 ERS) needed a photographer to accompany him on a mission to find a pilot missing in action behind enemy lines. An aerial search was the best chance they had of pinpointing his location which would greatly assist the infantry in a rescue mission. Bill prepared himself for the flight by donning his summer flying overalls then his shoulder holster containing a .45-calibre automatic pistol a clip of bullets, some birdshot and a Bowie knife. In Bill’s opinion, the plane, a Stinson L-5 Sentinal, seemed too small for the task but once in the air Bill could see how it responded immediately to the pilot’s demands. At an altitude of 800 feet they had a clear view over the white coral landscape with its ridges and scrub growth right down to the flatter area where, at just 50 feet from the ground, the pilot could point out a crop of foxholes that had until the day before been occupied by Japanese soldiers. They had been cleared with grenades. Flying low and slow they picked up a mound with a crater in the centre and at the bottom an Allison engine. Debris was scattered all around. No one would have survived such an impact. Bill captured the scene on film before the pilot headed towards the ocean and there, in shallow water, was a Zero fighter plane lying on the ocean bed in perfect condition. There was no sign of the pilot although it was possible he had survived the descent. It was time to head back having clocked up thirty-five minutes combat time.

When back with the 26th, Bill recounted the details of the flight as he gave Smoky some much demanded attention. They were not often apart but it was going to be that way for some time now while Bill was in the air. But a random comment from one of the guys had Bill thinking differently: ‘Hey, Wynne, if you get knocked off, I can have Smoky, can’t I?’ It was something Bill had not thought about, or rather had not wanted to, but knowing Smoky’s fate had already been discussed in his absence made Bill sad and extremely angry. There was no way he was going to leave his dog’s life in anyone else’s hands. After all, he firmly believed that fate, God, or something had delivered Smoky to him and so it was his responsibility to look after her. He made the decision quickly and decisively: ‘From now on she goes with me. If it happens, we go down together.’ The men could see that he meant every word and said no more about it. Meanwhile, Bill took the canvas musette bag and checked the tie-down straps and the buckles and he could see how the bag’s shoulder strap could be fixed around his waist and not interfere with a parachute. The plan was complete. From now on, Smoky would be his flying buddy.

* * *

Bill’s next twelve missions would be in Catalina PBY-5As, otherwise known as Cats (army designation OA-10). These majestic flying boats were an integral part of 3rd Emergency Rescue Squad and flying at a maximum altitude of 13,000 feet Bill knew he could take Smoky with him as there would be no need for oxygen and he could still hide the dog in the musette bag without detection. After a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs, Bill and Smoky were ready for their first recon flight in a Catalina. A pre-flight briefing was a chance to remind the crews of the local dangers should they crash land. A ditched air crew was a valuable commodity in the jungle. Not all the villagers were friendly to the Allies: some were pro-Japanese. Others, in Dutch New Guinea, were known to have eaten at least three US airmen.

The crew of a Catalina numbered eight people: the pilot, co-pilot, navigator, engineer mechanic, radio operator, two medics and a waist gunner. Bill, as aerial photographer, was crew member number nine. He was positioned next to the gunner in the window blister, a .50 calibre machine gun at his side. The medics doubled as gunners. Smoky was a stowaway and delivering her best performance ever, staying still and quiet until Bill was able to divulge her presence. Everyone understood why he had brought her along and it was agreed she could stay and the safest place for her bag was to hang off the top bunk. It was within Bill’s reach and that was all that mattered.

It was 3 a.m. when they took off on the mission to rescue a squadron pilot missing in action. Although the plane was on a rescue and reconnaissance mission, it did not have distinctive Red Cross markings. It was marked up the same as an American war plane and was equipped to return fire. They were headed for the island of Ceram, west of the New Guinea coast and as dawn broke they entered their search area. Bill knew the lost pilot, had flown with him and that made the mission personal. He was determined to scour every inch of terrain for signs of life. But there was nothing. Suddenly and violently, the plane was pitched into a squall and everything went black. They were flying blind and being buffeted from all sides. Wrestling to keep control, the pilot climbed to 12,000 feet but the storm was still with him. The Catalina was now at the mercy of the storm and the search mission had become a matter of survival. Bill put his hand over the musette bag where Smoky was hopefully still asleep. He resisted the urge to look inside because he knew he would want to take her out and hold her but it was unsafe to do that while the plane was lurching and rolling. She was safer in the bag and while she was still and quiet, Bill was reassured. He couldn’t help wondering how long she could stay quiet and calm as the storm raged around them but he hoped it would be until they entered the home stretch. For four hours the pilot, co-pilot and the navigator worked flat out to get the crew of nine men and one dog home. What had started out as a routine search had become one more victory over the violent and unpredictable weather. They were exhausted and, thankfully, as they entered the skies over Biak, the clouds lifted giving them clearance to land.

Safely back on solid ground, the men sat in the plane for a while just allowing their minds and bodies to calm. Bill unhooked the strap of the musette bag from the top bunk and put the bag over his shoulder. He felt along the bottom seam of the canvas and it was warm. He could just about feel the rise and fall of her tiny breaths; she was fine. He thanked the Good Lord and anyone else watching over them all. It was Smoky’s first experience in the air and she had survived alongside Bill.

From that moment, they flew with many other crews and all of them welcomed Smoky as one of the team. It became routine that as Bill boarded the Catalina he would hang the canvas bag, with Smoky inside, on the edge of the upper bunk for the flight. On the longer flights, Bill would let her run around on the bunk for short periods just so she could stretch her legs and be reassured everything was fine. Sometimes the vibration and the loud hum of the engines was not a rhythmic comfort for her but just a loud noise that made her bark. But she was happy to be with Bill and sensing he was there made everything all right. Even when a flight turned out to be more hazardous than first thought, Bill would make sure Smoky was a happy passenger. He never took risks with his dog’s safety and, at the same time, would never have compromised the pilot or any other crew member during a mission. He need not have worried about upsetting anyone, everyone was glad to have her along for the ride. Those precious moments when she was allowed out to play were special for the entire crew. They provided a short, surreal interlude from reality. Smoky had the ability to make people smile when there was very little to smile about.