The Dog Who Could Fly by Damien Lewis Read Free Book Online

Bozdech, observer and air gunner. Same squadron. We were shot down this morning, sir. My pilot is wounded.”
    The lieutenant put a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “Steady now. We know about the crash but we weren’t sure about the aircrew. How the devil did you get here?”
    “Crawled . . . every bloody inch,” Pierre gasped. “Is there a doctor? My leg’s buggered.”
    “Not here, and we can’t do much this close to the enemy. We’d better carry you.”
    The French soldiers removed the bayonets from their rifles, lashed the butts and muzzles together to form a rough platform, and placed a greatcoat across it. Pierre was eased onto the makeshift stretcher and the party moved off through the trees.
    “Is your pilot badly wounded?” the lieutenant asked Robert.
    “A bullet through the leg, sir. He’ll recover.”
    “Indeed. Anyone who can get up that slope with such an injury will surely recover . . . In fact, you’re both to be congratulated. In the morning we’ll get him to a hospital. In our frontline position we can at least give him first aid, plus you’ll have a meal and a bed and you’ll be safe there.”
    The small force made its way through the darkened woodland, until the first defenses of the Maginot Line hove into view. They entereda clearing where a blockhouse had been cleverly camouflaged to blend in with the firs. All around it Robert could see gun barrels poking out from hidden emplacements in readiness for the feared German onslaught. The lieutenant hesitated before the building as Robert unfastened his jacket and reached for the puppy.
    “What’s that you’ve got there?”
    “A dog, sir. A puppy.”
    “Well, bring him in! Have you had him long?”
    Robert grinned. “Long enough to make friends with him, sir.”
    A meal of bread and bully beef was being prepared, the mouth-watering aroma of meat and gravy hanging heavy in the air. The puppy stirred, took one sniff, and started whimpering in excitement.
    “At least somebody appreciates the smell of Henri’s cooking,” joked the lieutenant. “Maybe the taste will change his mind!”
    Secure in their quarters, the soldiers toasted the rescue of the two airmen with hot black coffee laced with French cognac. They demanded to know every detail of the crash landing and the airmen’s escape to the woodland. But what they were most curious about was how, in the midst of the fight of their lives, the two airmen had ended up bringing a puppy with them.
    “Poor devil, he looks half starved,” Henri, the cook, remarked, once Robert had finished telling the story. “I’ll mix him some gravy and bread. Perhaps he’ll take it from you.”
    Sure enough, when Robert placed the bowl on the floor the puppy shot out from hiding and wolfed down every last morsel. He seemed to sense that if food came from Robert it was safe to eat. Wide brown eyes pleaded for a refill and a second bowl followed the first. Then, his tiny stomach swollen by the rich, unfamiliar fare, the puppy flopped down at Robert’s feet and threw up violently. The room erupted with raucous laughter and fresh gibes about Henri’s cuisine.
    Robert lifted the exhausted pup onto his lap and stroked him to sleep. Soon he and Pierre were likewise dead to the world.
    They were woken at dawn by the arrival of a field ambulance to take the wounded Frenchman to a hospital. Robert watched his friend being loaded aboard, before giving him one last grip of the hand.
    “Get back to the squadron soon. We’ll be waiting.”
    Pierre seemed more concerned that his girlfriend’s head might be turned by a rival while he was away convalescing. “Keep a close eye on the lovely Marie for me,” he remarked with a wink, and then he was gone.
    An hour later it was Robert’s turn to take his leave. He thanked his rescuers, placed the puppy inside his jacket, climbed into a Renault van, and set off for the nearest airfield. There, an aircraft had been put at his disposal for the 215-mile flight