In the Line of Fire

by Collins, Ace;

  The 1st Battalion of Royal Rifles was made up of two thousand men from Quebec. Because they were away from home, Gander offered these soldiers a chance to revisit their innocent boyhoods. With only fun in mind, they weren’t interested in training the dog for military service but rather enjoyed a companion that was as rowdy as they were. So Gander’s behavior changed little. Like the men who had adopted him as their mascot, he played rough, partied hard, and created endless havoc. As a part of his routine, Gander raided the base’s trashcans, barked during roll calls, and took every opportunity to sleep on freshly pressed uniforms. He was everything a military dog shouldn’t be and the men of the 1st encouraged Gander to stay that way.

  By the late summer of 1941, the 1st Battalion of Royal Rifles were aware combat was in their near future, but they didn’t know where they would be headed. The most likely destination seemed to be Africa where they would be fighting the Nazis in desert sands, so they were somewhat shocked when told to pack for a trip to Hong Kong. At this time, Axis powers had shown no interest in the island city, so the British colony was still a destination point for tourists. Rather than a military mission, to those of the 1st this seemed like a Christmas wish come true. In October 1941, after receiving their final orders, the men from Quebec left Newfoundland for Asia taking their mascot along for the ride.

  In the midst of war Hong Kong was an oasis of peace and tranquility. When not on duty at the garrison, the men of 1st hit the town, spent their money at the nightspots, danced until dawn, got to know the locals, and often woke up with hangovers. Their mascot had a pretty good life too.

  Though he suffered in the heat, Gander was actually treated better in Hong Kong than he had been in Canada. That was due in large part to the fact that members of the 1st Battalion of Royal Rifles had money in their pockets and time on their hands and merchants wanted to get a piece of that action. If business owners spoiled the dog then the men spent more cash. Thus Gander quickly grew fond of the local food and lapping beer from a bowl. Gander spent mornings sleeping on a veranda and afternoons under shade trees. To help the dog deal with the unrelenting heat and humidity, the soldiers even convinced local hotels to allow Gander to use the swimming pools. The huge canine also became a frequent visitor to Hong Kong’s many fountains.

  The party atmosphere wouldn’t go on forever. Newspaper headlines screamed the bad news from Europe and the fine print hinted at potential Japanese aggression in Hong Kong. Only a few months before in Canada, the clock had been ticking for Gander, and his future seemed uncertain. In early December in Asia, if one listened closely, that clock could be heard again but this time it was counting down the minutes for an entire city.

  On December 8, 1941, just hours after Japan hit Pearl Harbor, the Japanese military stormed the beaches of Hong Kong. With little warning almost two thousand Canadian men and their mascot experienced war firsthand, and it was not a fair fight.

  The forces defending Hong Kong were outnumbered four to one and after the initial attack, government and military officials realized the city would soon be lost. The five British planes assigned to the garrison were quickly destroyed and, except for raids by American pilots flying for the Chinese Air Force, there was no relief from the Japanese assault. Hiding behind rocks that overlooked the beaches, in ditches along roads, and on tree-covered hills, British, Indian, and Canadian forces did everything in their power to hold their ground, but the overpowering Japanese war machine was relentless as it patiently marched forward. For days the battle raged both day and night and the exhausted 1st Battalion of Royal Rifles was asked to dig deeper and fight harder and encouraged to conserve ammunition, food, and medicine. The enlisted men had to look no further than the eyes of the officers to understand their fate. There would be no victory; they were fighting for time and pride.

  The big black Newfoundland might have never been trained for military service, but Gander proved a quick study. He noted the destructive power of bombs and grenades and ran from them. He quickly grasped who was shooting at his friends and learned to seek cover during heavy assaults. He also was soon able to identify the direction from which the Japanese were mounting their attacks and warn the men of the 1st before the attacks began. By the second week of the war Gander decided that trying to stay out of harm’s way behind Canadian lines was simply not enough. On a night as black as pitch the dog noted a small group of Japanese soldiers circling behind the twenty men he was with. When rifleman Reginald Law heard Gander growl, he attempted to keep Gander quiet in order not to give away the unit’s position. The dog ignored Law, barked, and charged from cover, and a few seconds later the Canadian heard a scream. Peeking over a rock brought a smile to the exhausted and demoralized Law’s face. Gander had sunk his teeth into one of the enemy’s legs. With the dog holding the Japanese soldier in place, several more enemy soldiers appeared in an effort to help their comrade. With the Japanese group’s position revealed, the soldiers from the 1st Battalion of Royal Rifles had little problem picking off the invaders. The Japanese soldiers who somehow escaped the hail of fire were chased more than a hundred yards by the angry black dog.

  Gander’s first taste of combat offered much-needed inspiration to the outmanned Canadians. As the dog returned from running off the small Japanese invading party, he was greeted with hugs, pats on the head, and a few treats fished from backpacks. Yet while this moment offered something to celebrate, there was still no escaping the earsplitting sounds of rifles or the screams of dying men. By the moment, the war was growing even more intense.

  Japanese ships began raining terror from the skies and huge shells fell and exploded all around the littered landscape. With each passing moment more Japanese soldiers were hitting the beaches and storming toward the garrison. The odds that had always been against the Canadians were now overwhelming. So while Gander might have turned the tide for a moment, thus saving twenty men with his mad charge into the night, the end result would remain the same. The Japanese were going to win.

  Over the next few weeks, the men of the 1st Battalion of Royal Rifles had a chance to defend their positions in the daytime. When they could see the enemy, they were able to hold their ground. But at night they were all but helpless. Employing the cover of darkness the Japanese silently made their way through the brush to within feet of Canadian positions. More often than not, Gander was the only one that could sense their presence. Much like he had during his days of playing rugby and baseball with neighborhood children, he would launch himself over boulders or between trees and tackle enemy soldiers. The Newfoundland’s actions alerted the Canadians to the direction of the attack and kept them from being surprised. As word of Gander’s abilities and courage spread, other combat groups asked to borrow him but to no avail. Law and his friends now felt the Newfoundland offered them the only chance at perhaps beating the odds and surviving the battle for Hong Kong.

  During lulls in the fighting, as men rested and ate, they began to total the times Gander had saved their lives by repelling attacks. Their stories quickly spelled out something remarkable. The dog had likely been as responsible as any man in delaying Japanese victory. When soldiers hurriedly scribbled letters to loved ones, they described the mighty dog pinning enemy soldiers to the ground or chasing after them as they retreated screaming through the underbrush. Now they didn’t write of the canine as a mascot as they had before the war, but they gave him almost human qualities. He was their friend, comrade, and brother. They owed him their lives. Thus, in their minds, Gander had more than earned his rank of sergeant, with some suggesting he be given a battlefield promotion.

  As the battle for Hong Kong dragged on, the Canadians were forced to give ground. Under hails of bristling fire, scores of men died during the retreats. During one of those backward sprints, one member of the 1st Battalion of Royal Rifles screamed, falling from his position out into the open road. Writhing in pain, he tried to crawl back to cover, but couldn’t find the strength. As he yelled for help, a half dozen Japanese soldier
s, their guns drawn, raced forward. Just as the Canadians turned to fire, Gander exploded from a hiding place in the brush and rushed the enemy. The half a dozen shocked Japanese infantrymen turned their attention from the injured Canadian and aimed their weapons at the dog. As rapid bursts of fire rang out, the determined Gander kept coming. Growling, snapping, and yelping, the Newfoundland tackled the Japanese soldier nearest the fallen Canadian soldier. Only by using his rifle as a club did the soldier manage to free himself from the dog’s grip and race from the scene. With fear and panic written on their faces, the soldier’s comrades turned tail and ran as well. This time the dog didn’t chase, rather he stood over the injured Canadian as if to shield him from further harm.

  Coming out of the brush, members of the 1st picked up their wounded friend. As they carried him to safety, Gander defiantly stood in the middle of the road and barked. It seemed he was demanding those who had injured his friend return to finish the fight.

  By December 18 there was little question as to the outcome of the battle for Hong Kong. Though they had fought hard for ten days, the Allies would soon fall. With their supplies dwindling and surviving on little more than grit, the Canadians and Brits held on hoping against hope the Japanese would slow their assault long enough for Allied or Chinese reinforcements to come to the garrison’s aid. It was not to be.

  By now every member of the 1st Battalion of Royal Rifles had experienced death in some way. Hundreds had been killed and those who remained alive had taken an enemy’s life. The men were naturally numb, exhausted, hungry, and confused. As they waited for the invaders’ next wave, seven weary Canadians sat behind rocks and took turns petting the dog that had become so much more than a mascot. Just after midnight, in a place called Ley Mun, talk turned to Gander’s seeming superpower. The dog had raced through enemy fire a hundred times and never been hit. He’d taken down men armed with knives and bayonets and never been bloodied. Artillery shells had landed within yards of the black beast and he had not absorbed any shrapnel. And as the men shared their meager rations with the huge animal, one asked for a roll call of those who felt Gander had saved their lives. The vote was unanimous.

  A few minutes later, just after midnight, the lull ended as a large group of Japanese crawled through the brush toward their position. Suddenly the air was again filled with lead and the weary Canadians were forced to once more grab their weapons and reenter the war. The enemy assault group quickly surrounded the seven members of the 1st. With no clear path for retreat, the men were pinned down in an area the size of a handball court.

  With gunfire coming from every direction and the well-hidden enemy now less than thirty feet away, the Canadians said final prayers and scanned the darkness for anything that was moving. Less than five minutes after the assault began, a grenade landed in the middle of their position. As fourteen eyes studied the fist-sized explosive, time slowed to a crawl. There was nowhere to run and now no time to live. Knowing they were an instant from death, the horrific sounds of battle were muted by thoughts of loved ones back home, favorite foods, and special songs. And except for one sergeant, no one moved.

  In his ten days of combat, Gander had learned of the destructive power of a grenade. He’d seen the weapon blow men apart. The big dog’s instincts and experience had to be demanding he run and seek cover. Yet rather than move farther from the grenade, as if possessed, he leaped forward, picked up the hand-tossed explosive like a tennis ball, turned, and charged toward the enemy’s position. The big Newfoundland made it a half a dozen steps before the weapon exploded, killing him instantly.

  The seven whose lives Gander saved were soon captured. Yet rather than being taken to a stockade created as a temporary prisoner-of-war camp, the men were rushed to Japanese command headquarters. During intense one-on-one interrogations, enemy officers peppered them with only a few questions about troop strengths and weapons, while the main thrust of the interviews centered on “black beasts.” Japanese intelligence wanted to know how many demonic creatures the Allies had in their force and how the monsters were trained as lethal weapons of war.

  On Christmas Day the Allies surrendered. The officers who met with the enemy leaders were also peppered with the same questions as the men captured a week before. The Japanese demanded to know what kind of animal the Brits and Canadians were using and why gunfire had no effect on it. Sensing an opportunity to pedal false intelligence, the word was passed for prisoners to inflate their story of the “black devil” or “black beast.” Thus, for the next four years the story of the “black beast” grew on a daily basis.

  After the war, those who survived near starvation and squalor in the prisoner camps shared stories of how Gander had not just saved many of their lives during the first ten days of the battle for Hong Kong but also brought them hope with his antics during their long days of captivity. Many still felt his presence in their midst and began to believe that Gander was always with them in spirit.

  More than six decades after the war ended, a Hong Kong Veterans Memorial Wall was dedicated in Ottawa. Chiseled into stone were the names of 1,977 Canadians who participated in that battle. At the bottom of that list is Sergeant Gander.

  The city of Gander exists in large part because of war. On land that no one wanted, an airbase was created as a defense against those who would inflect senseless evil on others. Yet in military lore the Gander that strikes up a sense of awe is not as much a place as a dog that the city officials of Gander felt was a nuisance. Thanks to a last-minute lifeline tossed out by a group of soldiers, the black canine escaped death row. And less than a year later, though not trained for combat, Sergeant Gander would knowingly lay down his life for those who had given him a second chance to live. To many, Gander remained the best symbol of the courage, nature, and spirit that defines Newfoundland.

  SIX

  RESISTANCE

  The history of liberty is a history of resistance.

  —Woodrow Wilson

  During World War II, a Chinese-born English Pointer proved that the love of an animal can inspire sick, starving men to defy all conceivable odds and survive brutal, inhumane treatment, disease, starvation, and loss of freedom. Yet for this dog, Judy, to move from a riverboat mascot to the only official canine prisoner of war would require a remarkable cast of heroes, a long parade of seemingly improbable events, and an almost demonic series of villains who were bent on victory at any cost.

  In the late winter of 1936, in a small private kennel in Shanghai, China, a litter of purebred English Pointer puppies was born. Though all were healthy, one proved especially active and intelligent. She was also sneaky, crafty, and a bit belligerent. She was at that moment a rebel without a cause, but in time she would be given a motive for rebellion and use it wisely.

  When the energetic pup was two months old she was a master at digging out of pens, opening doors, ignoring her owner’s calls, and racing through the streets of a city teeming with life and danger. Though war had yet to be declared, Shanghai, with its convergence of cultures, was ready to erupt. The city was a crown jewel of the British Empire, but it was also coveted by both China and Japan. Due to its strategic location it is not surprising that long before World War II the Japanese were making plans to create a base of operations in Shanghai.

  Even in the best of times Shanghai was a dangerous place for a roaming dog. It was teeming with people, cars, carts, and oxen. On top of that, canines were seen as a food source by thousands who lived in the city. Thus, many strays were captured, butchered, and placed on menus in restaurants and homes. During one of her escapes, Judy might have been headed toward that same fate when she confronted Japanese soldiers bullying a local shopkeeper. As the elderly business owner absorbed a series of blows from the visitors, the pup flew into action tearing at the soldier’s pants cuffs. A few kicks only stoked her passion for the fight. But while she was game, she was also smart, and when the battle grew dangerous, she found a hiding place. A few days later she also found her way back to the kennel.


  Due to her roaming nature it is doubtful Judy would have lived a very long life if the crew of the British gunboat Gnat had not been looking for a mascot. By seagoing standards, the Gnat was a small vessel, just over two hundred feet long. It was rusty, out of date, and home for a crew of about fifty. Now more than twenty years old, it was used mainly for river patrols. And while all the other British vessels in Shanghai had mascots, the Gnat didn’t.

  On a late summer day the men of the “insect class” boat fanned out across the city looking for any breathing thing they could adopt as a symbol. Standards dictated the mascot needed to define the crew’s attitude as well as the Gnat’s mission. Other ships were already using monkeys, parrots, cats, and goats. So the Gnat’s crew turned their focus to dogs and began to visit kennels. Of all the canines they saw, the white-and-liver-brown Judy stood out as being both regal and different. In fact, the men liked her for the same reason the kennel owner wanted to get rid of her: she had an attitude! Besides, no ship had a hunting dog that pointed when prey was spotted, which was precisely the Gnat’s job: to find and point out the enemy. So a deal was made, Judy was placed on a leash, and the team triumphantly led the pup back to the harbor. Though money had changed hands, in truth the kennel owner might have given the dog away because of the grief she caused him with her constant escapes. And while the kennel proprietor didn’t need or likely want a canine with those skills, a few years down the road men in another place would.

  The crew opted to give the dog a proper English name and title: Judy of Sussex. They also assigned seaman Jan “Tankey” Cooper the task of taking care of the new mascot. While Tankey would feed her, address her needs, and attempt to teach her the basic obedience skills needed for shipboard life, he would never really own her. It would be years before any one person could claim Judy’s heart.