The Dog Who Could Fly Read Online Free PDF

the room, moving toward the doorway, watched at every step by a pair of tiny, shining eyes—as if the puppy feared being deserted again. After a few seconds he reappeared carrying a battered frying pan filled with snow. He warmed it over the lamp, after which he dipped his finger in the meltwater for the puppy to lick. Soon the tiny dog was lapping happily from the pan, having the first real drink of his short life.
    “God only knows what we’re going to do with you,” Robert muttered.
    Even as he said it, he could not escape the thought that there was something terrible he might have to do before they left—the kindest yet the most dreadful thing possible. Already he was wondering if he would have the heart for the job.
    •  •  •
    At six o’clock he woke Pierre. “Ready?” he whispered. “It’s time.”
    Pierre spent a second or two rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Helooked reasonably well rested—which was a bonus, thought Robert. Pierre glanced around him, realized where he was, and a focus and determination came into his gaze.
    The Frenchman gestured at his bloodied and bandaged leg. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” He glanced over at the puppy. He was curled up and sleeping soundly after his meal. “What are we going to do with him? We can’t exactly take him with us and if we leave him behind he’ll starve.”
    Robert shrugged. “I’ve taught him to eat and drink. We can’t do more than that. We’ll leave him asleep and close and lock the door so that he can’t follow. We’ll give him some of our rations and a pan of water. He’ll have to take his chances along with the rest of us. Now, d’you think you can make it to the woods?”
    While Pierre readied himself Robert stared out of the doorway, trying to fix in his mind some landmarks to aim for along their route. He prayed for an overcast night, one bereft of moon or stars, to light their way. It would make navigation more difficult, but at least it would render them invisible to the enemy on the ridge. The faintest illumination might prove fatal, leaving the two men silhouetted against the white of the snowfields.
    Before setting out Robert filled the frying pan with melted snow, heaping up a pile of broken cookies beside it. He opened the door, helped Pierre outside, then softly closed and bolted it. With a last look at the darkened room and a silent and regretful farewell to the slumbering puppy, they began the trek to what Robert hoped would be freedom and safety.
    They had barely left the farmhouse when a series of vivid orange flashes tore through the night sky from the direction of the German lines. They were followed immediately by a barrage of equal intensity from the French lines to the west. The evening ritual of battery duels had begun. To make matters worse the heavy gunfire was accompanied by flares, which were fired high into the sky to be left hangingbeneath mini-parachutes as they drifted lazily earthward. Each side was using them in an effort to reveal the location of any night patrols that might have been sent out by the enemy, so they could be picked off by snipers.
    Pierre and Robert took cover in the outskirts of the orchard. The hot glare of the burning magnesium flares cast a skeletal pattern of black and white across the snow to either side of them. The entire area the airmen had to cross before they reached the sanctuary of the distant woodland was bathed in blinding light—the very thing that Robert had prayed they might avoid.
    Pierre uttered a string of muffled curses. “ Mon Dieu , but we’ll never get through that lot!”
    “We’ll make it,” Robert replied firmly. “The snow’s deep and we can find some cover in the shadows of the steeper slopes.”
    There was no question anymore of Pierre being able to hobble with the aid of Robert’s supporting arm. The only way to continue their desperate journey would be to crawl. They slithered forward on hands and knees, working their way slowly and painfully