A Dog With a Destiny

by Isabel George

  Sitting in the middle of a war zone, it’s easy to imagine how you might be hurt or injured but the jungle brings its own hidden dangers and mosquitoes are always a major problem in the Tropics. The drug Atrabine was part of the soldier’s protection against malaria and it was easy to spot anyone who was on a regular dosage due to the yellow tinge to their skin. When Bill fell ill with dengue fever, his only chance of recovery was a transfer to the 3rd Field Hospital in Nadzab. All front-line combat troops were treated here and Bill found himself surrounded by battle-weary servicemen. Bill’s war, so far, had only been touched by one aspect of the conflict and the invaluable part his reconnaissance squadron were playing; here in the hospital all victims of this particular theatre of war were assembled under one roof. Bill was in no state to judge where he was or what was going on but he knew that Smoky would be safe with his friend, Frank Petnilak, and that was all that mattered.

  After three days in hospital, Bill was allowed one visitor and it was someone he hadn’t expected to see at his bedside for some time: Smoky. She was not only allowed on the ward, but she was also allowed to sleep on Bill’s bed and it was agreed she could stay as long as necessary to help with his recovery. But Smoky was not the only delivery that day. With her came a copy of the latest issue of Yank Down Under announcing Smoky as Champion Mascot of the SWPA (South West Pacific Area). Everyone was hugely excited and Bill was so proud of his little dog. Bill’s image of her in his GI helmet had won her the competition. She was the heroine of the hospital.

  The Red Cross nurses were so taken with Smoky that they asked Bill if he would allow them to take her to visit other patients. Bill was delighted. He still remembers the look on the faces of the wounded when Smoky appeared on the ward: ‘It was as if the men had seen a vision. Perhaps because it was something so unexpected that they could not believe it: a look of half surprise and sheer delight. I never forgot the effect Smoky had on those men fresh from conflict. The picture stayed with me way beyond the war years. It was a little miracle.’ Even the most battle-worn combat soldier found a smile for the little dog with the big personality.

  During her stay, the nurses would often borrow Smoky and take her to see some of the wounded being brought in from Biak and Wakde Islands. Some had been wounded in mortar bomb attacks and were desperately ill but the sight of the little dog and her cheerful face lifted their spirits in a way medication never could.

  As Bill waited for the doctors to agree his discharge from hospital, he heard that his squadron was preparing to leave for action in Hollandia. There was also some news on Smoky’s identity: not how she came to be in the jungle in the first place but a definitive report on her breed. Bill took the copy of National Geographic that a colleague handed to him and read with interest a feature called: Dogs in Toyland. One of the pictures showed a dog that was the image of Smoky and it was captioned: ‘Yorkshire Terrier’. There it was in black and white. Bill avidly read the article and it was clear that his dog was an excellent example of the breed. He always knew she had breeding and class but this just proved it to everyone. Smoky was a Yorkie. But how a dog of such incredible breeding made it to New Guinea still remained a mystery.

  Bill had survived dengue fever, many others had not and as far as he was concerned, that was another miracle bestowed on him. He felt well enough to return to active service but the medics were not convinced and decided his recovery should be completed away from the war zone. So his reunion with Smoky coincided with being given a fifteen-day leave pass to Brisbane, Australia. Always fearful that Smoky would be confiscated by the authorities if she was discovered, Bill was careful to hide her and the hiding place this time was a musette bag, a small canvas kit bag with straps to fasten it. Bill taught her to stay still and quiet and she knew to do this as soon as he put her inside it. It was now August 1944 and hiding in the bag was a routine she was to perfect. Hitching a ride in a C-47 (a Gooney Bird) to Port Moresby was easy except the plane (capable of carrying 5,000 pounds cargo weight) was so over the limit that Bill and Smoky had to sit in with the pilot to redistribute some weight! The flight on to Townsville, near Brisbane, was uneventful but the temperature in the cockpit gave them an idea of how cold it was going to be on the ground. When they landed and were taken to their billet, Bill took one look at Smoky’s shivering body and asked for six blankets. He could tell they were going to need them. They were no longer in the Tropics and, although the heat was often stifling there, it was what they were used to. When they arrived, Smoky was shivering violently. Although they were missing the heat, there were a few things they could enjoy for the first time in eight months: fresh meat, for one and fresh milk for another.

  The cold was something Smoky was really not used to at all. She had been living in the heat of the jungle for most of her life … maybe all of her life. The blankets were fine for her naps and overnight but Smoky was cold all the time. Bill had to find her a coat. A hobby shop did not seem the obvious choice for someone looking for a dog’s coat but, as it happened, a green wool and felt cover for a card table provided the ideal solution. It had a beaded edge and was large enough to be fashioned into a warm coat that could also be used to display Smoky’s growing collection of campaign badges. One of the Red Cross volunteers offered her services as Smoky’s seam-stress and in no time at all she had made the coat and added the decorations that Bill provided: the 5th Air Force patch, the dog’s corporal’s stripes, the US insignia, a small brass propeller button (sewn onto all enlisted men’s blousons), the 26th Recon emblem, two ‘six month overseas’ bars, the Asian Pacific Ribbon and perhaps most precious of all, the Good Conduct Ribbon. The coat was complete and Smoky couldn’t wait to snuggle into its deep warmth. Bill was delighted with the result and the love and dedication that had gone into making it so special for his little dog. All this and eggs and steak for breakfast. What more could a little dog ask?

  For this little dog, there was one thing she loved more than her new coat and that was an audience to entertain. Wherever Smoky went, the Red Cross nurses were quick to find Bill and ask if his dog could go along to visit the patients. Bill was always happy to oblige as he knew the magic of having the dog around to fuss and talk to and there would always be a few tricks to share with everyone. The 109th Fleet Naval hospital was the venue for their first show. The audience was made up of sailors and Marines who had been transferred to Australia because the climate was more conducive to healing their wounds. In the Tropics this was a long and unpredictable process that many did not survive. Looking at the men sitting in front of him, Bill recognized the misery of hospitalization etched on their faces. Surly nothing could break the cycle of fear and frustration these men were facing every day? Nothing, that is, until Smoky made her grand entrance. Once again just the presence of the little dog lit up the room and the faces of the people waiting to see her. Without any hesitation, Bill signalled to Smoky to ‘play dead’ and the show began. Everyone in all eight wards of the hospital enjoyed the show and every one of Smoky’s tricks but it was the chance to stroke and fuss her at the end that really gave the men a boost.

  She followed this performance with a visit to the US 42nd General Army Hospital in Brisbane where she put on a show in twelve of the wards. Some of the patients followed her from ward to ward so they could see the show and meet Smoky several times over. She was a smash hit in every hospital and always followed the show-biz rule of leaving her audience wanting more.

  As Bill’s recovery leave drew to an end, preparations were made to return him to his squadron. The 26th Photo Recon Squadron was destined for service on Biak Island and for Bill the fear was not of battle but whether Smoky would be allowed to go with him. There were rumours that the dreaded Scrub Typhus was causing devastation on the island but other dogs were there and so it had to be worth taking the chance with Smoky even if she had to be smuggled there. Biak Island was a coral battleground located just four degrees south of the Equator. The white coral landscape stretched for twenty-five miles and offered
a bare and hostile environment to the US troops stationed there. The invading Japanese Army had inhabited the many caves that could be found all over the island but rumour had it that 5,000 of their soldiers were still holding ground all over Biak.

  When 26th Photo Recon arrived on Biak, the US infantry patrol based there for the clean-up operation put a call out for volunteers. A first sergeant stepped forward for the experience with the idea that he would see what was required of these volunteers before others put their names down. After three days, he returned with first-hand reports of face-to-face encounters with enemy soldiers. He confirmed to the commanding officer, Captain McCullough, that to volunteer for this clean-up mission meant being prepared for combat. The soldier had six notches on his M1 Garand service rifle to prove that he had encountered the enemy and despatched them accordingly in the intensity of jungle warfare. It was clear to the captain that anyone who followed from the 26th would, like any other infantryman, be facing the same horror and he decided there would be no more volunteers from his squadron as they were too vital to lose. Every air recon crew risked their lives on every flight but the images they captured of the enemy’s position saved many thousands of lives. There were no more volunteer requests and the photo lab was soon pressed to working twenty-four-hour shifts developing thousands of negatives and tens of thousands of prints for distribution to the Allied Forces on land, in the air and at sea. The dedication of Bill’s team was recognized with its first Presidential Unit Citation for outstanding coverage of the Philippine Islands from 18–20 September 1944. At that time there were sixty-five men in the lab turning out 650,000 prints which were delivered to the 6th Army, the Air Corps, the Navy and the Australian Forces. Through these images the war in the Pacific was co-ordinated and fought.

  The weather always controlled the activities of the recon squadrons. When the storms set in, the planes could be grounded for days even weeks leaving the men anxious and in need of something to distract them from reality. This is where Smoky came into her own. She loved to swim with Bill and it was the perfect way to cool down in temperatures reaching 54°C inside their tent. She was too small to dive into the ocean with everyone else but a four-foot-deep bomb crater proved to be the perfect paddling pool for little Smoky. She loved having her own private pool on the beach, not to mention all the attention she attracted from her admirers who loved to see her enjoy herself. But, the salt water was not kind to her coat which was, at long last, starting to grow out of the GI crop that she had when Bill first met her. She was now looking more like the Yorkie pictured in the National Geographic magazine except the ocean salt was setting hard on each strand making it course and matted. But this was nothing Bill couldn’t solve with a daily freshwater bath: half a helmet full for the bath and half for the rinse. Perfect.

  It was Smoky’s attitude to life in a war zone that was so important to the men. It didn’t seem to matter how hot it was and how fiercely the sun reflected off the white coral surroundings or how bad-tempered people became due to the white heat or the drowning rain or sheer fear of what could happen next, Smoky was always happy. It was as if she refused to let any of the harshness get her down. She was happy to find shelter under Bill’s cot or enjoy a cooling bath. If she had the energy she would chase birds or, if she felt like really making mischief, she could see if the monkey, Colonel Turbo, was up for a fight. Colonel Turbo was the mascot of 25th Photo Recon Squadron and he had a reputation for being a nasty piece of work. The pilot who had bought the rhesus monkey from a zoo in New Mexico when the men were on manoeuvres, had died when his plane crashed so the squadron decided to keep Turbo as their mascot in memory of the lost pilot. It was a lovely idea and an admirable act of respect but it was something they would grow to regret as Turbo settled into his destructive and aggressive ways. If he wasn’t running rampage in the tents stealing food and eating cigarettes he was most likely biting the hand that fed him. And almost every man in the squadron had the marks to prove it.

  When Smoky first met Turbo, the 26th Recon was warned that the monkey would mangle the dog – Turbo had a track record for doing that with dogs. Everyone watched with interest. Bill knew that Turbo was tethered on a length of rope so he set Smoky down where the monkey’s leash was at full stretch. After a moment or two of sniffing each other from a distance Turbo suddenly flew at Smoky sinking his teeth into her nose. Yelping with pain and shock Smoky turned from her aggressor and then suddenly turned back and flew at him scratching his nose. Nothing and no one had ever done that to him before and Turbo scampered up his favourite tree to lick his wounds. He sat there for a few moments just touching his nose and then checking his paw for blood before dashing back down to run at Smoky. Turning on him again, she sent the confused monkey back to his tree. He refused to come down. No dog had ever threatened him or hurt him as Smoky had done and it was the start of a love/hate relationship that was to last until Turbo carried out his final act of destruction. It was hoped that he would die of natural causes as he was something of a mascot hero in the Pacific and his squadron was always faithful to him.

  Smoky always thought it was good sport to chase and chastise Turbo, knowing he was on the end of a rope. But his temper grew worse and the tidal wave of destruction he created when he managed to free himself from the rope began to annoy more people. One day, a shot was fired close to the camp and after that Turbo disappeared. It was a sad end to the career of an animal that had seen so much active service.

  Smoky’s antics with Colonel Turbo were always entertaining but one of the major distractions from the work of war were Smoky’s training sessions. Bill had already taught her a handful of tricks but there were many more he wanted her to perform for this captive audience. Walking a tightrope, blindfolded, was the next on the list and for that he needed the help of some of his colleagues. In no time at all, a platform for the wires had been constructed and two aircraft control cables stretched between the pipes. The whole structure was then secured into the coral for safety. Bill and Smoky repeated the routine on the rope over and over again and all the time Smoky gained confidence until she had enough trust in Bill to do the walk blindfolded with only his voice to guide her. Once that was perfected, Bill set his sights on seeing Smoky walk on a barrel. Finding the barrel was the easy part as the chemicals used in the photo lab were shipped in fifty-five gallon barrels so all Bill had to do was have one cut down in size and then have it painted circus style. Bill knew this was a complex trick but he also knew that Smoky was intelligent and would master it. Perhaps he was expecting too much too soon from her. Perhaps it was the 37°C heat that was getting to her – she kept falling on her side and she looked so exhausted. Bill decided to give her a rest and he set Smoky down on his cot to sleep. A little while later, he noticed something small and black lying next to Smoky. He couldn’t quite make it out but as he drew closer to the blob on the bed he could see that it was moving. It was a puppy. Smoky’s puppy and he didn’t even know she was pregnant. Bill was in shock. It was great news but so unexpected. He recalled someone saying that Smoky had found a boyfriend during the time Bill was making his way back from hospital in Nadzab. He had dismissed the idea as a joke but obviously it was true. The likely father was Duke, another Terrier. This one belonged to Bill’s friend, John Hembury, and there was sure to be lots of interest from his camp too. Bill decided to call the puppy Topper and Smoky proved to be a good and attentive mother. The men celebrated the arrival of Smoky’s puppy in style, thanks to a little help of a delivery by a B-25 Mitchell bomber (a Fat Cat). The B-25s were often used to test flying times and, in their stripped down form (with no armour plating and no weapons), they were filled with cargo such as cases of alcohol, fresh fruit and meat and all the other items it was impossible to acquire on Biak. Sometimes the plane was so full of goodies that the bomb doors would not close! It was a good job the latest drop was a generous one as people came from miles around to see the new arrival. They wondered how a dog that was only four pounds in weight herself could pr
oduce a pup. Everyone was happy to toast the youngster’s arrival with a class of homemade Cola made from Coke syrup, water and compressed aircraft oxygen tank. It was improvised and inspired. Everyone loved it and Topper was welcomed into the 26th Photo Squadron in style many times over. Smoky joined in each toast with an enthusiastic bark.

  On 16 September 1944, Bill was informed that his flying status had been confirmed. As a graduate of aerial photo school, he was eligible for combat duty and this provided him with the opportunity to leave the photo lab and earn the required 300 combat hours (time spent ‘where enemy fire is probable and expected’). A young lieutenant from 3rd Emergency Rescue Squadron (3 ERS) needed a photographer to accompany him on a mission to find a pilot missing in action behind enemy lines. An aerial search was the best chance they had of pinpointing his location which would greatly assist the infantry in a rescue mission. Bill prepared himself for the flight by donning his summer flying overalls then his shoulder holster containing a .45-calibre automatic pistol a clip of bullets, some birdshot and a Bowie knife. In Bill’s opinion, the plane, a Stinson L-5 Sentinal, seemed too small for the task but once in the air Bill could see how it responded immediately to the pilot’s demands. At an altitude of 800 feet they had a clear view over the white coral landscape with its ridges and scrub growth right down to the flatter area where, at just 50 feet from the ground, the pilot could point out a crop of foxholes that had until the day before been occupied by Japanese soldiers. They had been cleared with grenades. Flying low and slow they picked up a mound with a crater in the centre and at the bottom an Allison engine. Debris was scattered all around. No one would have survived such an impact. Bill captured the scene on film before the pilot headed towards the ocean and there, in shallow water, was a Zero fighter plane lying on the ocean bed in perfect condition. There was no sign of the pilot although it was possible he had survived the descent. It was time to head back having clocked up thirty-five minutes combat time.