Read Online The Dog Who Could Fly by Damien Lewis - Free Book Online
Authors: Damien Lewis
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for dead—bent to his dog and greeted him in the accustomed way.
After greeting Ant, Karel stood with his hands in his pockets and a cigarette dangling from his mouth, as if to say: What’s all the fuss about? Seeming to revel in his comrades’ obvious surprise and disbelief, he acted as if it was no big deal for him to have reappeared in their midst. He beamed and winked as if he’d just returned from one of his amorous nocturnal adventures, rather than a jarring impact with a furrowed field and a perilous escape in a French Army vehicle, which only just managed to keep ahead of the German armor.
“What I want to know,” he remarked to Robert, “is what you lot were saying about me in the bar last night. Go on, don’t be shy. It’ll be like reading my own obituary.”
• • •
Sadly, there was precious little time to enjoy the miracle reunion. The Wehrmacht’s advance into France was overwhelming. As the Panzers rolled relentlessly toward Paris, Robert flew numerous, ever more desperate sorties, but always with Ant at his side. The young dog’s boundless energy and apparent enthusiasm for combat gave Robert added strength and conviction, although Ant could have no idea whom they were fighting or why. If my dog can fly repeatedly into the face of death undaunted, so can I , Robert reasoned.
Reconnaissance flights confirmed that the enemy armor was blasting asunder anything that stood in its path. The squadron’s few aircraft that remained serviceable had barely touched down before they were being refueled and flown to another aerodrome farther away from the German advance. The aircrew left behind had to follow inroad convoys, and were forced to pick their way along routes choked with fleeing refugees.
The French and British Air Forces had fought courageously, inflicting heavy losses on the Luftwaffe, but the armies on the ground had been routed with bewildering speed. So many columns of French soldiers had been overrun that the Germans could not take them all prisoner. They were disarmed and turned loose to run for their lives along with the civilians.
Flying low, Robert could see that the roads were jammed with refugees fleeing Paris. He had no trouble telling them apart from others on the move, for plush cars carried the well-dressed Parisians in relative comfort. By contrast, most of the country folk relied on horses or oxen to drag ancient carts that groaned under the weight of their possessions. But both the city slickers and the fruit pickers had one thing in common: fear. Anxious faces scanned the skies for warning signs of an attack. Whenever German warplanes pounced, rich and poor alike scrambled into roadside ditches to take cover.
On June 14, the Germans penetrated the outskirts of Paris and thrust onward to find the city center virtually undefended. The remnants of Robert’s squadron, complete with Ant, were withdrawn to a small airbase near the village of Le Breuil, far to the south of the capital, where it was hoped they might be able to operate for a while longer against the victorious enemy.
But a flight of ten Messerschmitts was to shatter that illusion once and for all. Pouncing without warning, they methodically targeted each of the surviving aircraft lined up on the airfield, their heavy machine guns spitting tongues of fire. By the time they had disappeared over the horizon, every last one of the squadron’s warplanes was left a smoking, mangled ruin.
On the following day, June 17, the new French leader, Marshal Pétain, a hero of the First World War, made the humiliating announcementthat France would sue for peace with Germany. It was the final hammer blow to an already fragmented war effort.
The last surviving members of Robert’s squadron were summoned to a farmhouse garden to be addressed by the squadron’s adjutant. His medals recalled days of past glory, but now he stood gray-faced before them and with shoulders bowed. No more than sixty men of all ranks mustered,
After greeting Ant, Karel stood with his hands in his pockets and a cigarette dangling from his mouth, as if to say: What’s all the fuss about? Seeming to revel in his comrades’ obvious surprise and disbelief, he acted as if it was no big deal for him to have reappeared in their midst. He beamed and winked as if he’d just returned from one of his amorous nocturnal adventures, rather than a jarring impact with a furrowed field and a perilous escape in a French Army vehicle, which only just managed to keep ahead of the German armor.
“What I want to know,” he remarked to Robert, “is what you lot were saying about me in the bar last night. Go on, don’t be shy. It’ll be like reading my own obituary.”
• • •
Sadly, there was precious little time to enjoy the miracle reunion. The Wehrmacht’s advance into France was overwhelming. As the Panzers rolled relentlessly toward Paris, Robert flew numerous, ever more desperate sorties, but always with Ant at his side. The young dog’s boundless energy and apparent enthusiasm for combat gave Robert added strength and conviction, although Ant could have no idea whom they were fighting or why. If my dog can fly repeatedly into the face of death undaunted, so can I , Robert reasoned.
Reconnaissance flights confirmed that the enemy armor was blasting asunder anything that stood in its path. The squadron’s few aircraft that remained serviceable had barely touched down before they were being refueled and flown to another aerodrome farther away from the German advance. The aircrew left behind had to follow inroad convoys, and were forced to pick their way along routes choked with fleeing refugees.
The French and British Air Forces had fought courageously, inflicting heavy losses on the Luftwaffe, but the armies on the ground had been routed with bewildering speed. So many columns of French soldiers had been overrun that the Germans could not take them all prisoner. They were disarmed and turned loose to run for their lives along with the civilians.
Flying low, Robert could see that the roads were jammed with refugees fleeing Paris. He had no trouble telling them apart from others on the move, for plush cars carried the well-dressed Parisians in relative comfort. By contrast, most of the country folk relied on horses or oxen to drag ancient carts that groaned under the weight of their possessions. But both the city slickers and the fruit pickers had one thing in common: fear. Anxious faces scanned the skies for warning signs of an attack. Whenever German warplanes pounced, rich and poor alike scrambled into roadside ditches to take cover.
On June 14, the Germans penetrated the outskirts of Paris and thrust onward to find the city center virtually undefended. The remnants of Robert’s squadron, complete with Ant, were withdrawn to a small airbase near the village of Le Breuil, far to the south of the capital, where it was hoped they might be able to operate for a while longer against the victorious enemy.
But a flight of ten Messerschmitts was to shatter that illusion once and for all. Pouncing without warning, they methodically targeted each of the surviving aircraft lined up on the airfield, their heavy machine guns spitting tongues of fire. By the time they had disappeared over the horizon, every last one of the squadron’s warplanes was left a smoking, mangled ruin.
On the following day, June 17, the new French leader, Marshal Pétain, a hero of the First World War, made the humiliating announcementthat France would sue for peace with Germany. It was the final hammer blow to an already fragmented war effort.
The last surviving members of Robert’s squadron were summoned to a farmhouse garden to be addressed by the squadron’s adjutant. His medals recalled days of past glory, but now he stood gray-faced before them and with shoulders bowed. No more than sixty men of all ranks mustered,
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