November/December 2006

Jack was sick… violently sick. These were the roughest seas they had encountered since leaving Newport News, Virginia, twelve days before. In the hold of the ship, where it was dark and musty, and the smell of diesel fuel assaulted his sensitive nose, Jack and his crate slid this way and that. His thoughts, once again, turned to his family, left behind in Connecticut. Instead of violent seas and uncomfortable crates, he thought of sunny summer days spent running in green fields, and of napping in front of the fire on cool crisp autumn afternoons. Most of all, he thought of his boy, Peter, whom he had played with and protected, and whose bed he had slept in every night since he was a tiny puppy. These thoughts could do little to make him feel better though, when his stomach was pitching and rolling like the ship. Jack was a handsome German shepherd that had lived with and loved his family for two years. Now World War II was raging and every patriotic American wanted to help support the war effort. His family had purchased war bonds, recycled aluminum, and planted a victory garden. Then they had done the best thing they could think of. They had given Jack to “Dogs for Defense,” an organization that acquired dogs from civilians and donated them to the armed forces. The dogs were paired with handlers, trained, then shipped overseas to work. It was his chance to go up on deck for a while, and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine Jack had spent six months at a training center in Front Royal, Virginia. He’d learned the commands he would need to be helpful to his handler. He had learned never to bark, which might give his position away to the enemy He’d learned to ignore the sound of gunfire and the presence of other dogs. His handler had been trained too. He had learned how to take care of Jack and how to read the signals the dog gave when he sensed enemy troops nearby. Jack was so busy retching that he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching his crate. “What’s the matter, fella… having another bad day?” Jack looked up. There was his handler, Sergeant Mark Baker. Mark opened the crate. Jack emerged, wobbling slightly on shaky legs but happy to see his partner. This was Jack’s favorite time of day It was his chance to go up on deck for a while, and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. Jack rushed up the stairs to the deck, pulling Mark behind. Once on deck, he marched to the railing and put his feet up. Looking over the side, he sniffed the air and growled at the waves. As the pair circled the deck, they heard people calling out to each other or laughing at one another’s jokes. Toenails clicked on metal as dogs moved around the deck. A man polishing an anti-aircraft gun called out to them as they passed. Up here, the smell of diesel fuel was still present, though it was not as strong, and it was mixed with the clean fresh smell of the sea. The sound of engines throbbed from deep within the ship. After an hour, Mark placed Jack back in his crate. “It’s OK, Jack,” he told him. “Another week or so and we’ll be in Morocco. That won’t be much fun either, I’m afraid, but you’ll get to be outside every day, and you won’t be seasick anymore.” He smiled and left, once again leaving Jack alone in the dim hold. Ten days later, they arrived in Morocco. Far-off’ explosions could be heard before they even left the ship. Once on land, the explosions were louder and accompanied by the distant sound of gunfire. Jack was nervous at first, and he leaned against Mark for support. A jeep pulled up. “Get in!” yelled the corporal who was driving. Jack and Mark jumped into the jeep and it roared off. They reached the command post within an hour, a tent city placed close to the liberated town of Fedala. Mark and Jack received their orders. The landscape of Morocco was well suited to ambushes. The desert made soldiers feel they could see for miles, giving them a false sense of security. Yet scattered scrub brush was perfect for hiding snipers. The Americans were suffering high casualties. Jack and Mark were to accompany troops going out into the field. Jack was to be “on point,” or out in front. He would be the first to enter unknown territory, and would alert Mark if enemy troops were nearby. It was a dangerous job, but Jack’s sharp eyes and keen sense of smell made him better prepared to do the job than any man. A private showed Mark and Jack to their quarters. As Mark entered his tent, he saw a man sitting on a cot reading a letter. A smile crossed the man’s face. “Hi!” he said. “My name’s…” As he saw Jack, however, the man’s warm welcome turned to a frightened gasp. “What’s that dog doing in here?!” he shouted. “Get him outta here right now!” “I can’t,” said Mark, “I’m his partner. He and I go everywhere together. We’re going to be your new bunk mates.” The man shuddered. “All right then,” he said. He took a penknife out of his pocket. He flicked it open and reached down to draw a line across the dirt floor of the tent. “You keep that dog on your side of the tent,” he said. “I don’t want him anywhere near me.” “But why?” asked Mark. “He’s a swell dog.” “I don’t like no dogs,” said the man. “One bit me when I was a kid and I ain’t had no use for them since. So just keep him on your side of the tent and we’ll get along fine. My name’s Al, by the way… Sergeant Al Cooper.” “It’s a pleasure, Al, I’m Mark Baker and this