FReeper Canteen ~ Hall of Heroes: Antis the War Dog ~ November 4, 2013

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[Kathy in Alaska]

 

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---

~ Hall of Heroes ~

Antis
Info from here.

           

This story is a little different from our usual fare, but I hope that you enjoy it as much as I did!  I know that the animal lovers in the Canteen will!  *HUGS*

As enemy fire tore into its engines, the stricken warplane began a crazy descent into No Man’s Land in northern France. Gunner Robert Bozdech braced himself for a crash landing. Or worse.

With a hideous tearing of steel, the doomed craft ploughed into a patch of dark woodland. By the time it came to a juddering halt, embedded in thick snow and foliage, he had lost consciousness.

He came round with no idea of where he was or how much time he had lost. Just a few yards away the fighter-bomber’s French pilot lay seriously wounded.

Rising to a kneeling position, and miraculously unhurt, he spotted what looked like an old farmhouse 100 yards or so to the north. At a crouch he moved towards it.

Although there were no footprints in the snow, he could hear faint sounds of movement inside. Cocking his pistol, he gingerly pushed open the front door.

‘Get your hands up!’ he shouted in halting French. ‘Show yourself! Now!’

The only response was the faintest hint of a yawn. Whoever was inside was defying him in the most insolent way possible.

Surely they’d understood? He didn’t know enough German to call out in the language of the enemy.

‘Wake up, you b*****d!’ he snarled. ‘Show yourself!’

Down the barrel of his gun he spotted a movement. A small ball of grey-brown fluff was stumbling to its feet unsteadily and was peering up at him, growling out a throaty little challenge.

At the sight of it, the airman’s aggression evaporated. He’d been threatening a tiny puppy - and a courageous one at that.

‘Who left you here, alone and hungry?’ he said, picking up the little creature. He unzipped his leather flying jacket and slipped the puppy inside. ‘You’re coming with me, boy,’ he said. ‘We’re in this together.’

He couldn’t have known it, but that moment marked the start of a lifelong friendship - one that would see man and dog posted to England, then take to the skies over battle-torn Europe in one of World War II’s most inspirational stories of courage.

Just 24 hours after he’d been presumed killed in action, Robert Bozdech walked into his airbase at St Dizier, 200 miles away in France’s Champagne country, carrying his new-found friend. Rescued by a passing patrol, along with his pilot who survived, he had been flown back to rejoin the close-knit community of Czech servicemen fighting with the French Air Force who, like him, had fled their homeland when Germany invaded.

The Czech airmen took the puppy immediately to their hearts, and named him Antis, after the Russian ANT dive-bombers they loved to fly back home. By now he and Robert were inseparable. ‘Even though he’s a German Shepherd, he was found in a French house,’ said one. ‘We’d better show him some solidarity.’

The rest of 1940 offered little chance of action for the airmen. But on May 10, at first light on a cloudless morning, battle finally commenced.

To ease the tension of waiting, Robert organised an impromptu game of football. Antis joined in with relentless determination and unbeatable speed. But all of a sudden he wasn’t in a playful mood any more.

Robert glanced up to see his young dog standing stiff-legged and staring at the horizon, hackles up and growling, just as he’d done as a tiny puppy in that French farmhouse. Seconds later the air-raid siren sounded and the first of the Luftwaffe’s Dornier Do-17s powered into view.

In the years to come, Antis’s extraordinary ability to sense enemy warplanes long before they were detectable by the human eye and ear, sometimes even by radar, would go on to save countless lives.

But Robert worried that if anything happened to him, who would look after his dog? He decided Antis would fly, too. When he was scrambled for his next sortie, he whistled for his dog to follow. As Robert climbed into his Potez-63, Antis leaped on its wing and climbed in beside him.

He barely stirred when the twin engines roared into life. A quick nuzzle of the hand that reached down to pat his head and he seemed happy.

Even more extraordinary was the dog’s reaction to combat. As the Potez dived, soared and swooped to avoid the anti-aircraft fire that bloomed all around them, Antis simply dozed through it all.

As the mighty Wehrmacht war machine rolled onwards over the next few weeks, the dangers for the Czech servicemen intensified.

Hurricane fighters from the RAF joined the French Air Force in their desperate efforts to prevent the British Expeditionary Force from being cut off.

But amid the maelstrom Robert Bozdech and his countrymen seemed to be leading charmed lives. None had been shot down, or even harmed.

The superstitious among them began to wonder if the presence of their cool and fearless canine mascot in the air was linked with their good fortune.

When the French leader Marshal Petain announced in June 1940 that his country would sue for peace with Germany, the Czech airmen of French First Bomber-Reconnaissance Squadron decided to head for the one country still holding out against the German aggression: Great Britain.

With the Battle of Britain now at its height, one of the first postings for man and dog was to RAF Speke, in Liverpool, to help strengthen the city’s defences against the fearsome nightly bombardment from the Luftwaffe.

Hundreds of miles from home, trying to make a life in yet another strange country, he was gladder than ever of the company of his beloved Antis. On one of their nightly walks through the ravaged streets, Robert noticed his dog suddenly stand stock still, head thrust upwards and eyes raised to the sky. It was the familiar stance that meant ‘danger’.

‘Don’t worry, boy,’ said the airman, kneeling down to pat him. ‘We’re safe here. It’s the docks they’re after.’

Even as he spoke he heard the high-pitched scream of the first sticks of bombs plummeting out of the darkness. With no cover in sight he threw himself flat on the ground, pinning the dog beneath his body to shield him from the blast.

The raid was over in seconds. Stumbling to his feet, he saw that where three houses had stood before him, only shattered stumps of walls remained. Cries for help mingled with the crashing of falling masonry.

With Antis leading the way, he ran to the rescue. The dog was already scrabbling in the dust, pausing atop the mounds of rubble, his hyper-sensitive ears homing in on the pitiful pleas for help.

One rescue followed another. Even when Antis became engulfed by falling masonry and had to be rescued himself, he refused to give up, sniffing out a child no more than a year old.

It was well into the small hours when the exhausted airman and his dog arrived back at camp. For the last few hundred yards Robert had to carry Antis, so painful had his paws become. Not until he’d tended his dog did he accept any treatment for his own injuries.

But that dark night had proved that this very special animal was no mere pet, companion or mascot. He was a life-saver.

It was a few months later that Antis watched his master disappear up the steps into the Wellington bomber. From the edge of the dispersal area at RAF East Wretham in Norfolk, their new base, he longed to join him.

The rules in Britain, though, would not allow it. With a mournful gaze he tracked the heavily laden aircraft, codenamed C for Cecilia, as it taxied towards the end of the runway.

One by one the bombers took off, but he seemed to know which one contained his master. He couldn’t tear his eyes away until the last speck of the plane had disappeared into the southern skies.

Finally, with a drooping tail, he sank on to his haunches, making it clear to the ground crew that this was where he was going to stay. No amount of entreating would make him change his mind. When food was brought he refused to eat it.

As dawn broke, the dog’s stance changed. It was as if he could sense that the planes were returning. To the waiting crew it was clear he’d caught the sound of the Wellingtons’ engines in the distance. He was sifting the sounds, searching for the one he so wanted to hear.

 

Suddenly he was on his feet and barking loudly, beginning a wild war dance for joy, tearing round and round the group of waiting men as if he’d gone half-mad.

As C for Cecilia touched down, he could hardly contain his excitement. He waited until the hatches opened, as he’d been trained to do, then bolted forward, and was at the bottom of the ladder as his master stepped down.

It was a pattern that would repeat itself scores of times that summer as hostilities progressed.

In June 1941 Robert’s 311 Squadron was tasked to bomb the railway yard in Hamm, in the west of Germany.

The trusty Wellingtons, C for Cecilia included, were prepared for the coming sortie. As ever, Antis dozed near the runway once they had taken off.

It was 1am when he awoke from a long sleep as if from a sudden shock. He began to shiver. Then, quite suddenly, he threw his head back at the heavens and began to howl. It was a sound that none of the men had heard him make before: hollow, full of loss, spine-chilling.

‘Cecilia’s in trouble,’ shouted one. ‘Antis can sense it. God knows how, but he can.’

Two hundred miles to the south east where an aerial battle raged over Occupied Europe, a shard of metal was punching through the Wellington’s Perspex gun turret, shattering it and burying itself in Robert’s forehead. The time was 1am precisely.

As blood poured into his eyes, the crippled Cecilia began to lose height. The coast of England was looming before her, a dark line on the blacked out horizon. The plane hurtled towards the cliffs.

Back at East Wretham the groundcrew waited for news. But nobody could get Antis to abandon his lonely vigil, even as rain lashed the airbase.

Late in the afternoon welcome intelligence arrived that the plane had been coaxed over the cliffs before its engine gave out, and had landed safely, in Norfolk. Robert had been taken to hospital and was likely to be there for several days.

But nobody could think how to pass on the news to his dog. If he continued to refuse food and shelter, he’d die.

It was the squadron’s padre who came up with the idea of asking the hospital to let Robert out for a few hours to rescue his faithful companion. For the second night running, the staff at East Wretham covered the ravenous Antis with blankets, and prayed that he’d make it.

At dawn the next morning a car raced up the perimeter track. In the back was a bandaged, bruised Robert.

He sank to the ground beside his dog. A tongue flicked out and licked his master’s face tentatively.

Through the smell of lint and iodine, Antis could detect the familiar taste and scent. His tail thumped weakly as he tried unsuccessfully to stand.

But he couldn’t do it. Instead the wounded airman picked up his dog and cradling him in his arms, carried him to the waiting car.

It was late June when C for Cecilia was ready to take to the skies again. And for the first time Antis was nowhere to be seen as the crew completed their pre-flight checks and took to the air.

On board the plane, Robert tried to ignore his nagging anxiety. Maybe this was to be expected after the dog’s long and traumatic vigil during the previous mission.

The airman forced himself to focus on the dark skies ahead. They would soon be over the German coast, and danger beckoned.

Feeling a touch on his elbow he turned, expecting it to be the navigator with an important instruction.

It wasn’t. It was a German Shepherd, lying prone on the floor. Robert shook his head. It must be the altitude playing tricks. And yet there he was.

Antis must somehow have crept aboard the aircraft and stowed away, careful to stay hidden until there was nothing anybody could do about it.

Recovering from the shock, Robert saw that the dog’s flanks were heaving. They were climbing to 16,000ft, and Antis was having increasing trouble breathing in the thin atmosphere.

Taking a massive gasp, the airman unstrapped the oxygen mask from his face and pressed it firmly over his dog’s muzzle. They shared the oxygen for the rest of the flight.

The plane dropped its payload on to the city of Bremen’s oil refinery and turned for home, surviving night fighters, ground fire and the threat of barrage balloons to make it safely back to East Wretham, where Robert prepared to face the music.

Everybody knew it was strictly against Britain’s Air Ministry regulations to take an animal into the air, especially when flying a combat sortie over enemy territory.

‘No prizes for guessing where Antis has spent the night, then,’ said the Wing Commander.

‘Sir, please let me explain...’ began Robert.

His superior threw up a hand. ‘There’s a very good English expression,’ he said. ‘What the eye doesn’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve after.’

Antis continued to serve as 311 Squadron’s mascot for the rest of the war. In 1949 he was formally recognised as a war hero when he was awarded the Dickin medal - commonly known as the Animal Victoria Cross.

In 1951, Robert Bozdech was granted British nationality. Just two years later, alas, man and dog were parted for ever. After all they had been through Antis the hero, talisman and warrior, died at the age of 14. His gravestone bears the simple words in Czech: ‘Loyal unto death.’

Robert married a British girl soon afterwards and they settled in the West Country to bring up their family.

He continued to serve with the RAF, including a combat deployment to Suez. But he never got another dog, and refused to allow his children one either. After Antis, the war dog, he swore he would never own one again.

Adapted from War Dog: The No-Man’s Land Puppy Who Took To The Skies by Damien Lewis, published by Sphere at £12.99. © Damien Lewis 2013.

Link to purchase the book.

Please remember the Canteen is here to honor, support and entertain our troops and their families.  This is a politics-free zone!  Thanks for helping us in our mission! 

[Kathy in Alaska]

And rounding out the top three....Joe bags the bronze!!

[Kathy in Alaska]

Permission Granted!

[ConorMacNessa]

Good evening, Kathy and Star!

***HUGS***



Thanks very much – coming aboard! Rendering Hand Salutes to our National Colors and to the Officer of the Deck!

And thanks very much to you and Star for tonight’s Hall of Heroes thread! Antis the Hero Dog is most worthy of entry into our Hall of Heroes!

"Riamh nár dhruid ó sbairn lann!"

Genuflectimus non ad principem sed ad Principem Pacis!

Listen, O isles, unto me; and hearken, ye people, from far; The LORD hath called me from the womb; from the bowels of my mother hath he made mention of my name. (Isaiah 49:1 KJV)

[Kathy in Alaska]

G’day, Janey...((HUGS))...our sentimental troops.

They do what they need to do...but have soft hearts.

[SandRat]

Got a few things fixed, Kathy...((HUGS))

Some little things to do tomorrow leaving Gr-Ma to watch/Chase after Maddi. lol

[Kathy in Alaska]

Good evening, Mayor, and thank you for today’s sustenance for body and soul.

[Kathy in Alaska]

Good evening to you, Pro...((HUGS))...did you get all your relaxing done this weekend? How did Oregon State do?

Antis was quite the dog....he was LOYAL!

[ConorMacNessa]

Welcome To All Who Enter This Canteen, To Our Serving Military, To Our Veterans, To All Military Families, To Our FRiends and To Our Allies!



Missing Man Setting

"The Empty Chair"

By Captain Carroll "Lex" Lefon, USN (RET), on December 21st, 2004

"In the wardroom onboard the aircraft carrier from which I recently debarked was a small, round table, with single chair. No one ever sat there, and the reasons, both for the table being there, and for the fact that the chair was always empty, will tell the reader a little bit about who we are as a culture. The wardroom, of course, is where the officers will dine; morning, noon and evening. It is not only a place to eat – it is also a kind of oasis from the sometimes dreary, often difficult exigencies of the service. A place of social discourse, of momentary relief from the burdens of the day. The only things explicitly forbidden by inviolable tradition in the wardroom are the wearing of a cover or sword by an officer not actually on watch, or conversation which touches upon politics or religion. But aboard ships which observe the custom, another implicit taboo concerns the empty chair: No matter how crowded the room, no matter who is waiting to be seated, that chair is never moved, never taken.

The table is by the main entrance to the wardroom. You will see it when you enter, and you will see it when you leave. It draws your eyes because it is meant to. And because it draws your eyes it draws your thoughts. And though it will be there every day for as long as you are at sea, you will look at it every time and your eyes will momentarily grow distant as you think for a moment. As you quietly give thanks.

AS YOU REMEMBER.

The small, round table is covered with a gold linen tablecloth. A single place setting rests there, of fine bone china. A wineglass stands upon the table, inverted, empty. On the dinner plate is a pinch of salt. On the bread plate is a slice of lemon. Besides the plate lies a bible. There is a small vase with a single red rose upon the table. Around the vase is wound a yellow ribbon. There is the empty chair.

We will remember because over the course of our careers, we will have had the opportunity to enjoy many a formal evening of dinner and dancing in the fine company of those with whom we have the honor to serve, and their lovely ladies. And as the night wears on, our faces will in time become flushed with pleasure of each other’s company, with the exertions on the dance floor, with the effects of our libations. But while the feast is still at its best, order will be called to the room – we will be asked to raise our glasses to the empty table, and we will be asked to remember:

The table is round to show our everlasting concern for those who are missing. The single setting reminds us that every one of them went to their fates alone, that every life was unique.

The tablecloth is gold symbolizing the purity of their motives when they answered the call to duty.

The single red rose, displayed in a vase, reminds us of the life of each of the missing, and their loved ones who kept the faith.

The yellow ribbon around the vase symbolizes our continued determination to remember them.

The slice of lemon reminds us of the bitterness of their fate.
The salt symbolizes the tears shed by those who loved them.
The bible represents the faith that sustained them.
The glass is inverted — they cannot share in the toast.
The chair is empty — they are not here. They are missing.

And we will remember, and we will raise our glasses to those who went before us, and who gave all that they had for us. And a part of the flush in our faces will pale as we remember that nothing worth having ever came without a cost. We will remember that many of our brothers and sisters have paid that cost in blood. We will remember that the reckoning is not over.

We many of us will settle with our families into our holiday season, our Christmas season for those who celebrate it, content in our fortune and prosperity. We will meet old friends with smiles and laughter. We will meet our members of our family with hugs. We will eat well, and exchange gifts and raise our glasses to the year passed in gratitude, and to the year to come with hope. We will sleep the sleep of the protected, secure in our homes, secure in our homeland.

But for many families, there will be an empty chair at the table this year. A place that is not filled.

WE SHOULD REMEMBER."

Many Thanks To Alfa6 For Finding Capt. Lefon's Chronicle Of "The Empty Chair."

"Träumerei"
Robert Schumann
(Click)

Never Forget The Brave Men And Women Who Gave Their Lives To Secure Our Freedom!!

"Riamh nár dhruid ó sbairn lann!"

Genuflectimus non ad principem sed ad Principem Pacis!

Listen, O isles, unto me; and hearken, ye people, from far; The LORD hath called me from the womb; from the bowels of my mother hath he made mention of my name. (Isaiah 49:1 KJV)

[Kathy in Alaska]

Good evening, Mooch....Antis was a most awwwsome dog.

Still no snow at my house...not a single flake. How are you doing?

[Stonewall Jackson]

Great story. Thanks for sharing it.

Able Seacat Simon, Royal Navy. Awarded Dickin Medal for protecting his shipmates during the Yangtze River Incident. Died of his wounds on November 28, 1949.

Private Wojtek the Bear of the Polish 22nd Artillery Supply Company. Recognized for working three straight days without sleep, transporting shells up the side of a mountain, during the Monte Cassino Campaign. Died at the Edinburgh Zoo in 1963 at age 22.

[Kathy in Alaska]

Good evening, Stonewall...what great stories. Thank you for sharing.

A bear? Gotta look into this one.

[ConorMacNessa]

I hope you will indulge me in a little vanity, FRiends - last Sunday we held a belated brunch in honor of Mrs. MacNessa's 60th Birthday. By way of background our 25th Anniversary had occurred earlier this year. A few years ago, she lost her engagement ring, and I intended to get her a new one in time for the Anniversary. Unfortunately, I was unemployed for a few weeks before that day and could not afford it at the time.

I purchased one a few days before the Brunch. At the beginning of the festivities, I stood up and told everyone I had a question to ask of my wife. I got down on one knee, opened the ring up and asked if she would marry me. She accepted, of course.



And they said it wouldn't last!

America demands Justice for the Fallen of Benghazi!

Eagles Up! Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!

Listen, O isles, unto me; and hearken, ye people, from far; The LORD hath called me from the womb; from the bowels of my mother hath he made mention of my name. (Isaiah 49:1 KJV)

[Kathy in Alaska]

Good evening, Mac...*HUGS*...did you do your part well in the choir this morning?

Finished my weekend errands today....checked out the new Sam’s Club. In a couple hours my computer guy is going to work on my computer remotely.

[The Mayor]

Evening my FRiend! God Bless you for all you do.

[ConorMacNessa]

Hi Kathy! I was under the weather today and did not make it to church. I'm feeling somewhat better this evening but will be packing it in in the next half-hour or so.

I hope your weekend has gone well. I have to make a run to Sam's myself soon - I need to get new tires for the van.

America demands Justice for the Fallen of Benghazi!

Eagles Up! Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!

Listen, O isles, unto me; and hearken, ye people, from far; The LORD hath called me from the womb; from the bowels of my mother hath he made mention of my name. (Isaiah 49:1 KJV)

[Kathy in Alaska]

Welcome to the Canteen, Recovering Ex-hippie....Antis’ story is a heart tugger.

Glad you enjoyed it.

[Gene Eric]

Congratulations, FRiend!

[ConorMacNessa]

EAGLES UP!!!

"Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."



WWII MEMORIAL




MARINE CORPS WAR MEMORIAL




VIETNAM VETERANS' MEMORIAL




ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETERY

Not only my Brothers and Sisters in Arms, but my parents, an uncle and aunt, and several cousins are laid to rest in those Hallowed Grounds. The notion that some Marxist traitor would exclude me or any other American Citizen from entry there for the purpose of visiting our Fallen Military, offering a prayer and rendering a Hand Salute to their valiant souls is absolutely intolerable! I won't have it and I will exert whatever strength remains in me to prevent this atrocity from being perpetrated upn us again

These Memorials stand to honor the millions of brave American men and women who, by dint of their service, sacrifice, and blood, built this great Nation, preserved our God-given Freedoms, and extended those Freedoms to countless millions around the Globe.

They belong to WE THE PEOPLE, not to our employees in the Executive Branch of our Government.

FOR THIS WE MUST FIGHT!!

EAGLES UP! The campaign is not yet won! We must soldier on!

Genuflectimus non ad principem sed ad Principem Pacis!

Listen, O isles, unto me; and hearken, ye people, from far; The LORD hath called me from the womb; from the bowels of my mother hath he made mention of my name. (Isaiah 49:1 KJV)

[laplata]

Congratulations to you and Mrs. MacNessa!

[ConorMacNessa]

Thanks very much, Gene Eric! It's great to see you this evening - it has been a while!

America demands Justice for the Fallen of Benghazi!

Eagles Up! Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!

Listen, O isles, unto me; and hearken, ye people, from far; The LORD hath called me from the womb; from the bowels of my mother hath he made mention of my name. (Isaiah 49:1 KJV)