In the Line of Fire

by Collins, Ace;

  When they weren’t training, Rip and Satan were always at Duval’s side. They ate with him, slept beside his bed, and followed him everywhere. By the time their education was completed, they were as much Duval’s children as they were tools of war.

  When Duval arrived at Verdun, the battle had been raging for months. The first shots were fired in February, and from there the war spiraled through spring and was now raining bloody terror in the summer. All around the town were the signs of destruction. The city’s children had seen so much death they were numb. They no longer reacted to carts filled with bodies or the pleas and cries of the wounded. It seemed this living hell had become such a normal part of their world it no longer made an impact.

  As he inventoried the sad lives of Verdun’s children, Duval came to realize he could make an impression on the little ones in two ways. The first was with food. The civilians in this city were not just tired, they were hungry. So sharing a piece of candy or a bit of meat with a child brought a small bit of hope.

  The other method for making a positive statement was through the dogs. As soon as the kids spied Rip and Satan they raced toward them, hugging the animals as if they were long-lost relatives. Duval soon learned the horrific reason the children viewed Rip and Satan with so much wonder and excitement. The area’s dogs had disappeared. Many had been killed in battle, some had starved, and others had become food for desperately hungry families. Thus, the pets the area had once treasured were all but gone.

  Beyond the children, Rip and Satan also offered war-weary soldiers a chance to escape for a few minutes. It seemed that for men who’d been on the battlefield for months, petting a dog brought about a sense of security and comfort even in the midst of flying bullets and floating gas. The unconditional love offered by the Irish setter and collie mix created some peace in the midst of hell on earth, even if just momentarily.

  As a trainer/soldier, Duval’s first job was to find someone at the garrisons who could take proper care of the dogs. Once these handlers were identified it was time to teach Rip and Satan the “road” between where they were stationed and where Duval would be headquartered. The trainer set up his operations at Thiaumont, a small town that had changed hands sixteen times in the first few months of the battle but was now held by the French. During lulls in battles, Duval taught the dogs to run from their assigned garrisons to Duval’s location at battalion headquarters. Once he was sure the four-footed soldiers had learned the course, the trainer left Rip and Satan with the handlers.

  The jet-black Satan was assigned to the garrison at Verdun. Rip joined another group not far from a point near the front line. Over the course of the first month of duty, Satan would complete a half a dozen missions carrying messages back to Duval. Those communications would include information on German positions and current French needs. After a day with the trainer, Duval would then have the black dog return to this group.

  Satan’s grace, power, and speed soon became the talk of the war. American war correspondent Albert Payson Terhune, who was already the world’s best-known dog writer, wrote newspaper stories of the canine’s amazing abilities. This burst of fame would be noticed by those supporting France as well as the Germans. The latter put a price on Satan’s head. Thus, because of the collie mix’s record of success, each new mission became more dangerous and more difficult.

  When a German sniper killed Rip, a distressed Duval turned his full attention to Satan. The wiry man with the solemn expression spent extra time training the collie mix to run closer to the ground, to seek out the safety of foxholes when under fire, and to always move in a zigzag line even when he was not under fire. While this additional training might have increased Satan’s odds for survival, it didn’t ease the trainer’s concerns.

  It was when the phone lines went out that Duval became most anxious because he knew the men at Verdun only had three choices for communication. One was to use the pigeons, the next was to send a man, and the third was Satan. On those long days Duval always made his way as near as possible to the front line where he would nervously pace the trenches while he waited for his dog. Somehow Satan always survived the hail of gunfire to complete his missions.

  On the nights that Duval had Satan, the trainer was bombarded with questions about the animal’s ability to literally dodge death. Many observers suggested luck was the reason the dog had survived, but Duval always framed his responses with logic. He painstakingly explained that the dog happily sleeping at his feet was the accidental product of breeding. With the room silent and all eyes focused on the heroic canine, the trainer pointed out that by combining a tri-color collie with a greyhound, Satan was graced with both incredible speed and intelligence. He didn’t as much react as he assessed a situation and adapted his training to adjust to it. His speed, along with his ability to adapt and learn, were the major reasons he had never been stopped. Duval finally pointed out the dog’s midnight-black coat that had given him his name made him all but invisible at night. When pressed, the trainer also admitted that Satan was the smartest animal he’d ever known.

  In late fall, as the weather cooled and the German offensive heated up, Duval left Satan behind at battalion headquarters and traveled to visit the garrison at Verdun. The men he met that day appeared years older than they had just a few weeks before. Thin, tired, and discouraged, the soldiers were living in holes on a landscape that was so bombed out it might as well have been the lunar surface. And everywhere there was the smell of arsenic. Because of the increased use of that and other poison gas, the soldiers were spending as much time with their gas masks on as they were breathing unfiltered air. At this moment, Verdun had to have been the most depressing and foreboding place on earth.

  Not long after the dog trainer entered the camp, the Germans launched another fierce offensive. Overwhelmed and outnumbered, the few hundred French soldiers were quickly surrounded. When the telephone lines were cut, the garrison’s frantic calls for reinforcements ended. As more lethal gas rolled in and the heaviest artillery fire of the war pounded Verdun, the Frenchmen found themselves completely cut off from the world. Their first instincts demanded they retreat, but the men knew that if Verdun fell the war would likely be lost. So in the face of almost sure death, they held their position out of loyalty to France.

  One day gave way to a second as the men valiantly found a way to survive. As they stubbornly hung on, they sent out the pigeons one by one carrying urgent messages seeking help. Snipers brought down each bird before it had flown a hundred yards. Two dogs were sent out next where they met the same fate. Finally with scores now dead and with the company’s food almost all but gone, the call went out for human volunteers. With hundreds of hopeful, praying, and exhausted men looking on, the first volunteer jumped out of the trenches and raced toward headquarters. He was shot and killed less than a hundred feet into his mission. Over the course of the next day, six more men tried to race through the gauntlet of fire with none of them making it more than a few hundred yards.

  Even if the French soldiers trying to hold onto Verdun had never read the story of the Texans at the Alamo, they had to be sure of the fate that awaited them. In order to destroy the will of the people of France and their government, these weary men knew the Germans would show no mercy. It was therefore natural that many of the stranded and hopeless men began to write last notes to loved ones while others fell to their knees and prayed. Among these seeking divine help was the dog trainer Duval, who now believed that without a miracle he was doomed to die without the animal he so loved.

  Miles away at the headquarters no one was aware of the plight of those at the Verdun garrison. Yet when the Germans dramatically increased their artillery barrage aimed at the small town, the commanders grew concerned. In an attempt to learn what was going on, pigeons were sent out. The birds were shot down almost as soon as they left the ground. As officers paced back and forth and discussed what could have been happening at Verdun, some offered the opinion that it might be best to retreat. Others
argued that retreating meant essentially surrendering to the Germans so they had to hold on for the future of France. As the room went silent a man made a suggestion, “Duval is at Verdun; let’s send his dog with a message. If only for their own morale they at least need to hear from us and we must know what is happening so we can understand how to respond.”

  A few minutes later when Satan, eager for duty, was brought into the room, seasoned military men wondered if this unlikely animal held the future of France in his paws. For several minutes the officers discussed the situation, trying to come up with another option, but no fresh ideas surfaced. Finally the commander picked up pen and paper, wrote a very short note, and placed it into the metal tube on the dog’s collar. The officer then asked his assistant to retrieve two carrier pigeons. Once the birds had been brought to headquarters, they were placed in wire cages and strapped onto Satan’s back. If the dog made it to Verdun then perhaps one of the pigeons could fly back with a note communicating what was going on at the garrison. A knock brought all eyes to the door. A soldier entered with grim news.

  “The Germans have gassed everything between here and the garrison. The dog won’t last more than a few hundred feet before dying.”

  If times had been different this would have been the death knell for the mission, but with the entire war on the line, the impossible had to become a reality. An officer took his own gas mask and pushed it over Satan’s head. It took some time and extra straps before the life-saving device was secured. Surprisingly the dog didn’t try to pull the mask off. Instead, he walked resolutely out of the room with a handler who led Satan to the front lines. Following a network of trenches, the pair drew as close as possible to the objective. Then with hundreds looking on, the black dog was lifted out of the trench and urged to go find Duval. As German gunfire picked up and explosions lit up the night sky, Satan, looking like a creature from another world, took a second to gain his balance and then lunged forward. Zigzagging down a bombed-out road, he quickly gained speed while exhibiting a singular purpose to complete his mission.

  The first mile and a half of Satan’s trip to the garrison offered uneven terrain, mounds of dirt created by explosions, and even a few thick bushes. Those who watched him until he finally disappeared noted the dog sought out the cover, waited until gunfire calmed down, and then ran to the next place offering safety. Though there were no eyewitnesses once he was lost in the darkness, the dog likely continued the pattern he had been taught by Duval until about a half mile from his destination. At that point the cover disappeared and Satan was facing an open stretch of flat ground. With the sun now coming up there was no place to hide.

  It was a sentry at Verdun who first noted a black shape hugging the ground while running in a random meandering fashion toward the garrison. The man readied his rifle as he called out for others to join him.

  “What in the world is it?” one asked.

  With the gas mask over his face and the birdcages strapped to his back, Satan looked like a huge-headed monster. As the imposing figure grew closer some even wondered if a demon was approaching. Finally, one of the soldiers recognized the creature as a dog and with the Germans now concentrating their fire on the animal he assumed it had to be one of their own.

  “It’s Satan!” a man screamed. “Get Duval!”

  When Duval arrived and peeked over the edge of the trench he must have sensed a combination of relief and fear. His dog was performing perfectly, doing everything he had been taught to avoid the snipers’ fire, but there was still two hundred yards between the collie mix and safety.

  “Come on boy!” the trainer screamed.

  As if inspired by the familiar voice, the dog shifted into another gear. Satan now seemed to be moving so fast it appeared as if his feet were barely touching the ground. Then with hundreds of hopeful eyes looking on, a German bullet found its mark and the black dog fell motionless to the earth.

  Tears filled the Frenchmens’ eyes as they watched their canine comrade lying on the ground. Completely overcome with shock and grief, Duval screamed what all of them must have been thinking: “No!”

  That word had no more than cleared the trainer’s lips when Satan struggled to his feet and stood. As blood seeped from his shoulder, he regained his bearings and began to move forward, but he was no longer running; now he was staggering like a drunk. Just a few steps after rising Satan took another bullet in the leg. He wavered momentarily before pitching forward and sinking to the ground.

  Seemingly possessed, Duval climbed out of the trench. With the Germans now concentrating their fire on the crazed man, the trainer screamed words that would forever be remembered by all those at Verdun. “Satan. Have courage my friend. For France!”

  As a completely exposed Duval watched his dog, now only fifty yards away, struggle to his feet, a dozen snipers pulled their triggers simultaneously. Six of the bullets found the trainer. He swayed and looked once more at Satan before tumbling back into the trench. While this move would cost Duval his life, the distraction gave the dog the opportunity to complete his mission.

  Hobbling on three legs, Satan slowly and painstakingly pushed toward the French line. When he was within ten feet, three men bravely crawled out of their trench and grabbed the dog’s collar, pulling him to safety just before another barrage of bullets filled the air. Too weak to stand, Satan lay unmoving as the message was yanked from the tube and the bird cages were stripped from his back. After his gas mask was removed, Satan crawled forward toward Duval’s body. The exhausted and badly wounded dog nuzzled his trainer’s hand while the garrison commandant read the message.

  For God’s sake, hold on. We will send troops to relieve you tomorrow.

  Taking paper and pen, the man in charge scribbled two identical notes giving information to headquarters on the location of the German artillery unit. He then secured the notes to each of the birds’ legs and released the pigeons. One bird was shot down but the other managed to fly through a wave of fire and make it home. An hour later, using the coordinates in the message, long-range guns took out the German battery encamped on the ridge above the town. As Albert Payson Terhune would write in a newspaper story from the front, “The garrison was able to hold out until reinforcements came all because one hairy mongrel refused to die while his errand was still uncompleted.”

  With their artillery severely damaged, the Germans quickly retreated. When they pulled back to regroup, the entire face of the war changed. The Allies, who had been hanging on by a thread, now moved forward on an offensive. The Germans would fight hard for another year but not mount a real challenge. Yet the damage inflicted in the twenty-five thousand acres around Verdun would never be completely healed. In a place where more than a million died, the earth remains so poisoned it is still a lifeless, barren wasteland filled with thousands of yet unexploded shells.

  There are no records on what happened to Satan after this mission. Decades later a few sources reported the dog recovered from his wounds and lived his remaining years as a pet. In truth, this tale was likely created for the children of France to assure them their revered canine hero’s story ended happily. As there is no official notation of Satan ever serving again and no soldiers’ letters mention him, it is far more likely that after completing the mission that turned the tide of the Great War he died next to Duval.

  No matter where or when he drew his last breath, Satan’s legacy can never be questioned. He changed the military’s viewpoint of the potential of dogs and with his courage and loyalty inspired a war-weary nation to continue fighting. In a very real sense, Satan became France’s canine angel and the dog that saved a nation.

  THREE

  LOYALTY

  I take things like honor and loyalty seriously. It’s more important to me than any materialistic thing or any fame I could have.

  —Lloyd Banks

  During the American War for Independence, it was the French who first came to aid the fledgling United States. Many historians believe that without French
support, the British would have won the war. A century and a half later it would be Americans coming to French soil to help fight the Germans that turned the tide of what was then known as the Great War. During these dark moments in history an American soldier would forge a personal alliance with a French-born subject forming a bond of loyalty that reached from Paris to Chicago and still resonates as one of the greatest war stories of all time.

  The United States entered what we now know as World War I in April 1917. One of those shipped to Europe to fight “over there” was Private James Donovan. Except for his Midwestern roots and lack of family, very little is known of Donovan before he joined the service. Yet though the details of his personal life might be sketchy, his military record is much more comprehensive. Assigned to the 7th Artillery, he was trained as a communication specialist and spent most of the war on the front lines stringing or repairing telephone wires. He was a constant target of enemy snipers, gas attacks, and artillery barrages as he worked tirelessly in the summer heat and the bitter cold winter of 1917.

  At about the same time Donovan arrived in France, a litter of mongrel pups was born in Paris. This was a time when food was scarce and families were forced to give up their pets, thus dogs of all breeds and sizes roamed through city streets and the rural countryside. Many were seen as nuisances and shot on sight. Some starved to death. The lucky hounds somehow found enough scraps to eke out a day-to-day existence.