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Smoky –

A Dog with a Destiny

‘Smoky was a diversion from the demoralizing reality of the Pacific War. She made us laugh and forget. The thought that it could all end suddenly was all too sobering. So, as we flew together on combat missions, I was ready for the worst but remained determined, within all my power to keep her safe. We were a team.’

(William A. Wynne – from his memoir, Yorkie Doodle Dandy, published by Wynnsome Press)

Miracles probably happen every day but few are witnessed and many more go unrecorded. Why? Because they just ‘happen’. But in a theatre of war where miracles are rare, they shine bright. Here, in the fearful darkness of hostility, where good stands out so clearly from bad, a miracle, however small, is something to treasure in memory – forever.

When Bill Wynne first laid eyes on Smoky he wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking at. Standing a little closer, the tall, dark, handsome GI from Ohio could just about make out that the baseball-size mass of brown fur in front of him had four short legs, two beady black eyes, and a leathery little nose but beyond that, its true identity was a mystery.

‘What kind of beast is this?’ Bill asked, turning to an oil-soaked Sergeant Dare. Blinking in the sunlight as he emerged from under the chassis of a Jeep, Dare confessed that he hadn’t a clue. All he knew was that Ed Downey had found the little thing in a foxhole in the jungle and then dropped it back with him at the 5212th Photographic Wing motor pool along with his vehicle. After giving Dare the lowdown on the unreliable Jeep that had been assigned, Downey offloaded his jungle ‘find’.

‘Hey, Dare, I found this in a foxhole,’ he said, thrusting the mass of brown fuzz into the sergeant’s greasy hands. ‘This damn thing broke down,’ he said banging his fist against the olive metal, ‘and in the sudden quiet I heard a yelping sound and at the end of it – this. I don’t know what it is but I know I don’t want it.’ Downey walked away towards his tent, frustrated by the day, the unreliable vehicle and the overpowering, wet heat of the New Guinea jungle.

Sergeant Dare already had enough to do in the motor pool. He didn’t see himself adopting this animal but he knew a man who just could be this creature’s salvation. In the meantime, he offered the animal water and food and, to help it cool down, he grabbed the hand shears and hacked away some of its excess hair. Frightened, near-scalped but still smiling and hopeful, the strange sweet thing fixed its gaze on the man standing in front of him who was wearing the puzzled expression.

Bill Wynne had been told about Dare’s new house guest and had wandered over to take a look. He squatted down for a closer inspection and got more than he bargained for – a big, wet, lick on his face. ‘Well it’s a dog,’ said Wynne, ‘but it looks kind of weird thanks to the haircut and I’m not sure it’s healthy. Where did you say you found it?’

The sergeant repeated the story and said that three Australian dollars would clinch the deal. Money wasn’t the problem. In US terms, that was around $9.66. What Bill didn’t want to do was become emotionally attached to this crazy-looking dog and then have it die on him a short time later. Bill’s twenty-one years of life had already been filled with more than his fair share of sadness. He had become accustomed to losing those he loved and he wasn’t in a rush to go through anything like that again. He had a feeling that nature might take its course with this fragile little life and made up his mind to wait until morning before parting with the three dollars.

Bill prayed that the little dog would make it through the night. They had only met briefly but there was a part of him that admired her spirit. Dare’s story had tugged on his heartstrings and there was an immediate empathy with a fellow creature that was also caught up in the uncertainty of the war and all its horrors. One thing puzzled Bill more than anything he had heard so far: how on earth had she ended up in the jungle in the first place? He marvelled at the miracle that caused Ed Downey’s Jeep to break down at that exact moment and in that precise location where the dog’s cries could be heard. But the string of miracles didn’t stop there. The biggest of all the dog’s lucky breaks was that Downey picked her up at all. He didn’t like dogs and didn’t mind admitting it, but he still followed the sound of the cries, rescued her and took the lost pup back to base. If none of that had happened, the animal’s life would probably have been snuffed out by heat exhaustion, starvation or one of a variety of predators which included the native tribes. But her life wasn’t taken and she seemed determined to live. Thanks to a series of fortunate events and happy coincidences, the small creature’s life was just about to begin.

The next morning Bill’s prayers were answered. Smoky was no longer a sickly looking beast peeping through the stumpy chunks of a bad haircut. The dog that Dare had called Smokums was a real survivor. Less than twenty-four hours earlier she had been pacing and weaving with anxiety and looked as though the trauma of it all might break her. But no. Thanks to Dare feeding her up and giving her a comfortable bed for the night, Smoky had defied the odds stacked against her and could now relax into her good-natured, loveable self. Bill handed Dare the new asking price of two Australian dollars. As the Sergeant pocketed the money and dashed back to his card game, Bill tucked Smoky under his arm and headed for his tent.

It was lucky for everyone that Smoky was only seven inches tall at the shoulder and four pounds in weight. A larger animal companion would have stretched the mini-malist accommodation way beyond the possibility of comfort. The tent had room for the bare essentials only: a cot bed to sit, sleep and eat on and stacking space for storing regulation-issue kitbags and contents. The old expression, ‘Not enough room to swing a cat’ could have been adapted to, ‘Not enough room to swing a tiny Terrier’. Pitched row upon row on cut grass the tents made up the Wing camp area. Each tent had its own foxhole directly outside so the men could dive for cover during raids and beyond the tents was the high grass leading to jungle and the mountains beyond. The view from Wynne and Downey’s tent was jungle. Dense, green and totally alien to the US Forces stationed there. Bill Wynne was more used to the farmland and industrial landscape of Ohio where you could see for miles around. Here, the jungle was a hiding place for predators of all kinds, including the enemy who were more wise to the terrain and therefore assumed to always be one step ahead.

This was to be Smoky’s playground. And her whole body shook with excitement just looking at it. A strange whimpering cry escaped from her body: a sound that was loud enough to come from a much larger animal. Bill’s first impression was that she liked what she saw and, although she was still a little limp and weak from her traumas, Bill could feel her tiny feet digging into his side as if she wanted to scramble out of his grasp and have a run around her new home. But first there was something Bill had to do.

Bill’s tent mate was Ed Downey who was definitely not going to welcome the tiny new resident. There was only one way to handle this and that was to deal with it there and then, head on. With Smoky still cradled in his arms, Bill looked at Ed and declared, short and sweet and low, ‘She stays!’ It seemed odd to Bill that Downey, the man who had saved Smoky from almost certain death in the jungle, so vehemently resented her presence in the tent. But perhaps it explains why, when he knew how much Bill wanted a dog, that he didn’t present him with his find instead of dropping her at the motor pool. But, a combination of luck, love and loyalty have a habit of winning through in the end; no matter how many obstacles are thrown in their path they rise up, like a resilient garden weed determined to make their presence felt no matter what. In this case, the dog and the man met anyway and the match was made. It was love at first sight and there was no turning back.

Smoky fell in love with something at first sight too – Bill’s cot. Once out of his arms she scampered towards it and then dived onto the drab olive cover folded at the bottom. She circled her chosen spot a couple of times and then settled down for a nap. Bill watched her every move. Her dreadful make-do haircut was severe and the crudely cropped tufts of hair all over her body made her look as if she had been the victim of some terrible attack. But her coat fascinated Bill and he tried to imagine how it would have looked before Dare’s impromptu cut. He could see why Dare had called her Smokums as the colour of her coat was a gingery brown with smoky tips and he imagined that when it all grew back the hair would be fairly long and flowing. Right now, the lack of hair meant her tiny fine-boned legs were on display and her delicate face and features could be seen clearly – at least that would help Bill give her a check-over when she woke. For now he wanted to let her sleep in comfort and peace. It would give him time to gather a few things together for his role as dog owner – one of the first bits of kit he was going to need for her in this humid environment, was a bath. Bill reached for his helmet – if it was good enough to act as his shaving basin then it was good enough to double-up as a dog bath.

As Smoky lay dozing on his cot, Bill took a moment to come to terms with his new responsibility. He had realized, within seconds of having her in his arms, that although she was the size of a lap dog she was not going to be content sitting on anyone’s lap all day, or lying on their bed. He did not know what breed she was but he could see that she was something special. She was tiny, and he could see there was a canine elegance and grace about her. But those were not the qualities that were going to help her now. More important to her in the jungle was her unstinting spirit. Bill could see she had an element of mischief in her make-up. He had witnessed too her sheer determination and he felt relieved because these were the qualities that were going to be the most valuable in her day-to-day survival alongside soldiers in a war zone.

Bill and Smoky were now players together in the war in the Pacific. They were part of a combined military force that was fighting the Japanese Imperial Army on land, at sea, and in the air. To win this battle it was going to need soldiers, sailors and airmen with not only the hardware to cripple the enemy but the emotional and psychological strength to take them through the bullets and the bombs and back home safe.

When Smoky was adopted by Private First Class Bill Wynne it was March 1944 and the United States of America had been in the Second World War for just over three years. Bill was one of 150,000 US servicemen posted to the New Guinea jungle as part of the Allied mission to hold off the Japanese from reaching Australia and regain Asia. The ultimate aim was to force a Japanese surrender. This was quite a tall order considering the Japanese had clearly exercised their military might on the US on 7 December 1941 with a surprise attack on Pearl Harbor, the naval parking lot in Hawaii for some of the US Navy’s finest warships. Battleships, cruisers, destroyers and more, all anchored in rows waiting to be called into the action. But they never stood a chance. Just after 7am on that Sunday morning the first wave of enemy planes bombarded the fleet destroying or severely damaging the ships where they sat. This once peaceful, paradise location had become a blazing inferno; a graveyard for several thousand tons of burning charred and twisted steel.

On 8 December, US President Franklin D. Roosevelt addressed Congress:

‘Yesterday, December 7 1941 – a date which will live in infamy – the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.

… As Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense, that always will our whole nation remember the character of the onslaught against us.

With confidence in our Armed Forces, with the unbounding determination of our people, we will gain the inevitable triumph. So help us God.

I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire.’

The cream of the US fleet was crippled. Battleship row decimated. On 7 December, Japan also launched an attack against Malaya and then Hong Kong. They also entered Guam and the Philippine Islands. They attacked Wake Island and, the following morning, Midway Island.

Meanwhile, the war in Europe was still raging. Hitler’s Luftwaffe was doing its worst against the city of London, the nightly bombing raids causing mass destruction to people’s homes in an attempt to break the spirit of the British people. To those engaged in the war in Europe, the conflict in the Pacific must have seemed light years away. The US Navy and the 5th Air Force had destroyed Japanese landing forces destined for Australia in the Coral Sea Battle in June 1942 and would force the point again a little while later in the Battle of Midway. And to continue to keep the enemy at bay it was going to need a huge injection of troops. It was thought this could only be achieved once the war in Europe was over. The Allied Forces and the political machine behind them fought to keep the Japanese threat at a distance for as long as they could – preferably until Hitler had been defeated, all occupied territory liberated and British shores secured. In March 1943, young GIs like Bill Wynne were facing two years of jungle warfare in a place very far from home.

When Bill Wynne read the headlines declaring the attack on Pearl Harbor he was home in Cleveland, Ohio. He was nineteen years old and a graduate of West Technical High School, the second largest public school in the country. His passion for football had been satisfied with a spell in the first team but torn ligaments in his right knee saw off any chance of a continued performance. On an academic front, West Tech offered a wide variety of courses to attract the more practically minded student and that suited Bill. Everything was geared to turn out work fodder for local industries and the vast acreage of greenhouses. Alongside courses for prospective electricians, carpenters, pattern makers and printers, there was an outstanding course in horticulture, which interested Bill, as did photography and art which he studied for a year.

Bill was still a student when he met the love of his life, Margie Roberts. His family moved into her street, just a few doors down from her house. The attraction was mutual and instant and for Bill, who had moved house ten times before reaching the age of seventeen, it was the best move of all. He still believes it was meant to be. It was Margie who bought Bill his first dog, Toby, who was only six weeks old when he was presented as a twentieth birthday gift on 29 March 1942. A German Shepherd and Doberman cross, Toby became Bill’s reason to attend his first dog training class. The Cleveland All Breeds Training School was Bill’s introduction to formal dog training classes. The classes were organized with the blessing of the American Kennel Club and incorporated a great many of the techniques being used to train dogs attached to the Armed Forces as patrol and guard dogs. The Services would require dogs that could display the ultimate in discipline and control and nothing less. The training was adapted to suit the average dog owner and their pet but the ten week programme was rigid and many owners’ expectations were high. The classes proved very popular and owners came from miles around to attend. Although Bill did not know this at the time, the training was going to be more relevant in the future than in the present.

Having Toby in his life was a huge step forward for Bill, perhaps more than Margie realized at the time. Bill wasn’t new to dog ownership but it was a relationship that had brought with it the ultimate in pleasure of partnership and the pain of loss. Bill’s childhood was punctuated with periods of sadness but somehow there was always a dog to be his companion and to lead him to laughter and happiness.

Bill’s mother and father separated in 1925 when Bill was six years old. His mother had to take a full-time job which was relatively well paid for a woman but childcare was impossible to secure when she needed it. Reluctantly, she had to reach a temporary compromise that would enable her to continue to support her family and that was to send Bill and his younger brother, Jim, to the nearby Parmadale Orphanage while their sister Mary went to live with her grandmother in Scranton. Bill would be at the orphanage for two years.

At Parmadale, Bill met the first dog in his life, Rags, a friendly Airedale who loved all the children and they loved him. Rags loved to run and play with them and never seemed to be exhausted by their games. But one day, one of the older and more difficult children took their frustration out on the dog by pouring acid over his body. Horrified, the other children could only look on as the dog ran from his tormentor. Rags’ cries have echoed in Bill’s head ever since.

The Parmadale days were not unhappy ones but going home was the best of times and one thing that made it all the happier was Skippy. Bill was five when he said goodbye to the orphanage and settled back home and one of his first memories of coming home was seeing Skippy tied to the kitchen door handle. The large white Collie dog had proven early on that he loved to run but didn’t always come back. If he escaped it took the entire street to chase him, corner him and take him home. His barking often annoyed the neighbours too but one night, just as the next door neighbours were about to get up and complain to Mrs Wynne, they realized their house was on fire. Skippy was not being a nuisance – he was saving their lives. This dog was the first to show Bill that when it comes to dogs, what you see is not always the sum total of what you get. Skippy was not a nuisance dog at all, he was a local hero.

Although Bill never owned the Great Dane called Big Boy, he was as close as you can get to your best friend’s dog. George Harsa was a friendly boy and his dog matched his character perfectly. Wherever Big Boy went, George was bound to follow, and Bill too. They were friends from their first meeting. Walking and playing in West 119th Street with the huge mutt bounding along beside them, the boys were happy as the day was long. At eight years old, no one should have a care in the world and this was so true of George and Bill. In the evenings, George would entertain the neighbourhood children with his banjo playing and Big Boy would sit alongside him, his most faithful fan. It was a relationship that Bill longed for for himself. The days at Parmadale were mostly happy but the discipline was harsh, even for children of only three years old. The sting of the half-inch wooden stick that often slapped down on his hand was something he would not forget. When Queenie wandered into his life, their relationship seemed meant to be. Bill was out playing and Queenie, whose breed was somewhat mixed to say the least, came to see what he was all about. She was quiet and friendly and interested in everything he had to tell her. She was so engrossed that she followed Bill home and his mother let her stay. Like all the dogs that found refuge in the Wynne household, Queenie was absorbed into the family’s life. She was a friend to all but it was Bill she would follow to the end of the earth. Queenie settled so well into the neighbour-hood that she was able to present her family with a litter of pups. All adorable and all possessing Queenie’s calm and loving temperament, the pups were popular and had plenty of visitors. The whole neighbourhood grieved when Queenie was killed in a road traffic accident. She had made quite an impact, especially on the children.

It was lucky for Bill’s mother that one of the litter, Pal, was still around to comfort her young son. Pal was more of a breed mix than his mother but every inch of his stocky, brindle body said that he was Bill’s protector. There was certainly a little Chow Chow and some Bull Terrier in the mix and a good deal more besides to make up his muscular body. Pal loved everyone and everyone loved Pal. He didn’t like other dogs very much but every child in town felt he was their pet and Bill was happy to share him. Bill was always teaching Pal new tricks such as riding downhill on a sled and then pulling the pile of sleds back to the top of the hill. He could jump in the air and take a hat off someone’s head and hand the hat back to them. Bill loved showing off Pal’s tricks.

Bill and Pal were a real partnership and looked after each other. Every time they came close to the busy road that ran behind Wynne’s house, Bill would stop and say, ‘Up!’ and Pal would jump into his arms and be carried safely over the road. The same would happen if Bill saw a rival dog coming towards them. But Pal’s best trick of all was working out how to get to Bill’s school. No one had shown him the route, he just seemed to find it one day and there he was waiting outside the school gate at home time. After that, he did the same thing everyday at 3.30 p.m. and walked Bill home. Then one day, after about a year, he wasn’t there. Bill searched high and low for any trace of his dog. The neighbourhood turned out to help but he was no where to be found. Pal never came home again. He was gone and it broke Bill’s heart.

So, when Toby came into Bill’s life some years later, the relationship had a bittersweet beginning. Having Toby brought back all the memories of Pal, the dog that gave him so much joy in his childhood, a joy that was as real and tangible as the hardships he had experienced during the Depression of the 1930s. The Depression had a catastrophic effect on Bill’s family and its fortunes. Of course they weren’t alone in that. The Wall Street Crash put an end to Bill’s mother’s well-paid job and meant she had to move her family around in order to chase work and an affordable rent. It was why they moved house so often, finally settling when Bill was seventeen.

At that point, life changed for the better in so many ways. Turning from a boy who showed little interest in schoolbooks, Bill became a dedicated and successful student. He met his sweetheart, Margie, and then Toby, the dog came pattering along. Toby was going to receive all the attention that Bill missed giving to his beloved Pal; the dog he vowed would be his last. There was a new challenge too: his desire to marry and set up home with Margie which meant making money became the focus of each day. Working in the local foundry was hard and heavy work but Bill was able to work two shifts a day to support the war effort and his own personal effort to save money. And Toby? He accompanied Bill to work and enjoyed long naps on the warm brick floor. Pressure was building on the foundry to step up production. The demand for steel to feed the manufacture of fighter planes, ships and munitions was heightening to the point where the foundry’s furnaces were ablaze twenty-four hours a day. Bill could have worked around the clock but the arrival of his draft papers cut that plan short. His country needed him and Bill answered that call.

Bill was assigned to the 5th Fighter Command of the 5th Air Force at Port Moresby in New Guinea. His interest and qualification in photography had made him a perfect recruit for air reconnaissance duties and, after completing a laboratory technician course, he qualified as an aerial photographer. In any other time and under any other circumstances the balmy breeze that rippled around them would have been a luxury to enjoy and relax in but not this location. There was always the threat of a red alert – the warning to take cover as enemy bombers attacked the airfield. The ‘ack-ack’ of the anti-aircraft guns continued throughout the night. For a while, Bill and Ed Downey helped out with general duties on the camp but Ed was frustrated and convinced the commanding officers had forgotten they had two aerial photographers and felt their skills were not being utilized. Ed was not afraid to make a fuss and his film-star looks and presence made him a force to be reckoned with. An immediate transfer to 5212th Photographic Wing meant a posting to Nadzab to take up a position as an aerial photographer.

Bill and Ed were there as General David W. Hutchinson’s personal photographers but Photo Hutch, as he was nicknamed, had crashed his B17 while on a mission on Boxing Day of 1943, just before the two photographers arrived. After an awkward start, they were assigned to the photographic laboratory. Their boss, Captain Powell had developed an aerial camera mount for low-level bombing photography and this development was made at a crucial time for the Allies. As a member of the 26th Photo Reconnaissance Squadron, Bill was part of an elite force whose activities were vital to the success of the war in the Pacific. There was a saying that the side with the best aerial reconnaissance team was the one that would win the war. Bill and Smoky were a part of the best.

While Bill was working twelve-hour shifts in the photo lab, Smoky would accompany him and entertain the other technicians just by being with them. Sitting on one of the trays used for passing wet images outside for washing in the daylight, Smoky would be passed between the men. And she was acquiring a wide range of tricks to show off. When he wasn’t at work, Bill would spend his time teaching Smoky something new. The little dog was a good pupil and picked up tricks very quickly and, more than that, she was eager to please. Her favourite party trick was playing dead: Bill would point his finger at her and shout, ‘Bang!’ This was Smoky’s signal to fall onto her side. From that point she would remain limp and still, and no matter how many times Bill prodded her, swung her round or tried to wake her she remained totally lifeless. The audience loved it. Then, with one word from Bill – ‘OK’ – she sprung to her feet and dashed to her master for some well-deserved praise. Smoky’s antics helped fill the long and lonely hours spent waiting for news of the Japanese invasion.

Formed in 1943, the 26th Photo Recon Squadron was vital to the war effort and its planes were constantly on or near the front line throughout the war. The planes were F-5s, stripped down, customized versions of the P-38 Lockhead Lightening one-seater fighters. They had to be light and manoeuvrable so they could get in fast, get the shots and get out again so the armoured protection on the fuselage and the guns were removed. All the time the planes would be drawing enemy fire, but were unable to fire back. It was the only way to find out where enemy troops were positioned along with their hardware and ammunition. The images the recon teams captured could prove invaluable evidence of enemy activity to share with the Army, Navy and Air Force. Each flight entailed risking life and limb with only a camera for protection.

Hollandia, in Dutch New Guinea, was approximately 450 miles from Nadzab and had three aerodromes which harboured the remainder of Japanese air strength in that area. It was surrounded by a range of 6,000-foot high mountains which would make any approach more problematic. But due south, in We Wak, there was a reported force of around 200,000 Japanese troops fresh from combat in China. The strategy was to starve them out by cutting off supplies from the outside world. Air reconnaissance revealed there were 350 enemy planes: the 5th Air Force wiped them out in three days.

Only one thing could stop a recon team in its tracks were the big, black tropical storms which swept the area. Cruel and destructive, the storms cancelled out the daylight making flying dangerous and photography impossible. On Black Sunday, 1944, a sudden storm turned day into night in seconds. Out of 200 B-2s, four B-25s and A-20 bombers, eighteen per cent were lost in the air and on the ground. 5th Air Force alone lost thirty-seven. Those in the air either lost sight of the mountains or ran out of fuel.

The storms were an unpredictable force of nature and the bane of the recon team. Smoky was not keen on them either. Bill soon learned that his dog could predict a storm several hours before it hit. Smoky would go very quiet and sniff the air before she began to whimper and then head for Bill’s cot. She knew the storms were bad news and did her best to warn the men. It was just another way she paid Bill back for taking her into his care.

Of course, Bill and his friends were always looking out for Smoky too. One of the big health threats in the jungle was Scrub Typhus. Nine out of ten sufferers died and Smoky, being the perfect host for the ticks that carried the disease was in a vulnerable position. It was decided she would have a daily bath in Bill’s helmet to help keep her tick-free, and Smoky loved it. The relief of the tepid wash was a joy to her and she seemed to smile as Bill swished the water over her body. Carefully, Bill would lift her out of the make-shift bathtub and pat her dry, feeling for the telltale lump of the insects on her body. Bill’s heart was in his throat each time he started to examine her. He knew that if she was sick there would be no veterinary help available.

Smoky had mastered the basics of Bill’s recall training: when he called her she returned immediately so he knew it was safe to let her run free in the jungle – she would always come back. And it was wonderful to watch her chase the birds and the giant exotic butterflies as she looked so happy and free. In those special moments, watching Smoky, it was as if the war was non-existent and it was a normal day in the sunshine, a day spent relaxing with friends, not a care in the world. A sudden burst of gunfire would usually bring everyone back to their senses and the moment of normality would pass as quickly as it had been conjured up. There were pressing realities that had to be faced up to.

The scare of the Scrub Typhus made Bill and his friends face the fact that Smoky’s life was potentially in danger. They decided that Smoky had to be confined to barracks, only venturing as far as the tether tied to Bill’s bed would allow. And there were other concerns in the jungle too: pythons. A python would have found Smoky a tasty bite-size meal and Bill was well aware of that danger. There was also the constant worry of her being kidnapped by someone else. She liked to chase the native humpbacked hens and that’s probably how she ran into one of the local villages where the children discovered that she was far more intelligent than the average camp dog. Bill was used to losing sight of her for short periods of time but that day he was terrified she had gone forever. Unable to speak the native language of Papua New Guinea and aware that some of the tribes were cannibals, Bill had to face his fears and ask a group of local people if they had seen his dog. At first, the language barrier looked as though it would stifle his enquiries but then his short impersonation of Smoky barking, raising a paw and standing on her hind legs was enough to communicate with the man who beckoned Bill to follow him. Leaving the dusty path, Bill followed full of eagerness to see Smoky again but all the time knowing he had no idea what he was going to see. When he stepped into the clearing, he could hear Smoky barking and his heart leapt in anguish until he recognized it was her happy bark. The village children were sitting around her and Smoky was running through her repertoire of tricks for them. The joy on their little faces was clear for all to see. The more laughter Smoky generated, the more she wanted to entertain. Bill felt almost guilty for depriving her of her enthusiastic audience. But Smoky didn’t mind. One look at Bill and she saw home and everything was good again. The children all kissed her goodbye and Bill and Smoky waved as they disappeared back through the jungle and found the pathway onto the main track. It was a surreal moment but another little miracle in the centre of the hostilities. A moment that, in any other time and circumstance, would have been ordinary. But not here and not now.

The more Smoky established herself in the camp, the higher her profile became and there were always jealous eyes on her. She was small and cute. She was friendly and talented. And, although there were other canine mascots adopted by the soldiers, Smoky stood out from the crowd. It seemed that keeping her close to him was the only way Bill could be sure she would remain safe. The risk of losing her was too great to take.

Smoky’s tricks became part of the daily entertainment in the camp, especially in the print room where Bill worked. Their impromptu shows were a welcome distraction from the pressure of the job and the fear that resulted from the random snippets of news they received about the status of the Japanese invasion and the war beyond their far-away section of the Pacific. Of course, news of Smoky’s talents spread beyond the confines of the 26th Camp and it didn’t take long for Yank Down Under magazine to track man and dog down. The magazine had launched a mascot competition and was keen for Bill to enter Smoky even though the squadron had already entered its existing mascot, a monkey called Colonel Turbo. At first, Bill was reluctant to take up the challenge. He could think of all the reasons why Smoky should not be entered into the competition but he was underestimating the enthusiasm of the dog’s fan base. Bill had to concede due to public demand and once he had done that he wanted the image they sent to the magazine to be perfect. Ideas fluttered into his head until his mind was buzzing with winning shots of Smoky as a military mascot. First he grabbed his helmet and put it on the ground. He knew Smoky would jump right in as she would be expecting a bath, and she loved baths. Bill took the shots himself and was very pleased with the results – Smoky looked so happy to be there and she adored being the centre of attention. But for the next idea, Bill was going to need some help.

The idea was to photograph Smoky descending by parachute. A creative idea, but with one problem: they needed a parachute, or at least a part of one to make the shot believable. Everyone was keen for Smoky to win the competition and besides, it made a pleasant diversion from the other off-duty pastimes. Within no time at all a ‘find Smoky a parachute’ project team had formed with Bill at its helm. The first item called in was the pilot’s parachute which was quickly adapted to Smoky’s size and then a collection of belts were added to create a harness. Bill then took a little time out with Smoky to practise the swinging to-and-fro movements so she wouldn’t be spooked later on. In the meantime, it was agreed that the drop needed to be about thirty feet from a tree with Bill and a buddy ready to catch the dog in a GI blanket at the bottom. Branches were sawn off a nearby tree to accommodate the parachuting dog and in no time at all, Smoky was in Bill’s safe hands in the tree. The plan worked perfectly and the men knew they had the shots they wanted. Smoky seemed so happy as a parachute dog that they couldn’t resist doing it a few more times, just for fun. What the men hadn’t noticed was the slight breeze that had been so helpful up until now was growing stronger and with Smoky set for her final drop, the wind caught the chute, which collapsed and then swept the tiny ‘para’ off course. Free falling at speed, Smoky yelped in panic. She tried several times to correct herself and managed to land on her feet but then bounced twice leaving her on her back. Bill dashed to where Smoky was lying. He saw her little body lying limp and helpless on the ground and thought the worst. Why did I do that? Why did I carry on with the jumps when I had the shot I needed? Bill chastised himself for getting carried away with the whole parachuting dog idea. He knew he would never forgive himself if anything had happened to Smoky because of his sheer stupidity. Maybe it was a slight concussion? Maybe she just wanted to teach him a lesson in taking better care of her? Whatever it was, the moments (that seemed like hours to Bill) passed and finally the fear-ridden GI could feel Smoky’s body stir in his hands. She looked up at him, as much to say: ‘Hey you. What did you think you were playing at, buddy? No more games like that one, please.’ Bill heard every word and guilt swept over him. He vowed, there and then, not to abuse her trust in him again. She did everything he asked of her, even jumped out of a tree. But that was to be the last time.

Of course, Smoky was perfectly capable of getting herself into scrapes singlehanded. Watching a game of softball has to be one of the safest activities no matter where you are, but maybe not if you are mistaken for the ball! Everything was fine while Smoky sat on Bill’s lap watching the game but suddenly she decided to join in the action on the field. Reaching third base, she caught the attention of the player who mistook her for the ball and scooped her up. He was all ready to throw to second base when he realized what was in his hand. Smoky had made a fantastic run but it was all about to end horribly. Bill’s frantic shouting and the realization of the players saved Smoky from a dash to the ground. It was a lesson to her to sit quietly next time.

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 produce 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.

When back with the 26th, Bill recounted the details of the flight as he gave Smoky some much demanded attention. They were not often apart but it was going to be that way for some time now while Bill was in the air. But a random comment from one of the guys had Bill thinking differently: ‘Hey, Wynne, if you get knocked off, I can have Smoky, can’t I?’ It was something Bill had not thought about, or rather had not wanted to, but knowing Smoky’s fate had already been discussed in his absence made Bill sad and extremely angry. There was no way he was going to leave his dog’s life in anyone else’s hands. After all, he firmly believed that fate, God, or something had delivered Smoky to him and so it was his responsibility to look after her. He made the decision quickly and decisively: ‘From now on she goes with me. If it happens, we go down together.’ The men could see that he meant every word and said no more about it. Meanwhile, Bill took the canvas musette bag and checked the tie-down straps and the buckles and he could see how the bag’s shoulder strap could be fixed around his waist and not interfere with a parachute. The plan was complete. From now on, Smoky would be his flying buddy.

* * *

Bill’s next twelve missions would be in Catalina PBY-5As, otherwise known as Cats (army designation OA-10). These majestic flying boats were an integral part of 3rd Emergency Rescue Squad and flying at a maximum altitude of 13,000 feet Bill knew he could take Smoky with him as there would be no need for oxygen and he could still hide the dog in the musette bag without detection. After a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs, Bill and Smoky were ready for their first recon flight in a Catalina. A pre-flight briefing was a chance to remind the crews of the local dangers should they crash land. A ditched air crew was a valuable commodity in the jungle. Not all the villagers were friendly to the Allies: some were pro-Japanese. Others, in Dutch New Guinea, were known to have eaten at least three US airmen.

The crew of a Catalina numbered eight people: the pilot, co-pilot, navigator, engineer mechanic, radio operator, two medics and a waist gunner. Bill, as aerial photographer, was crew member number nine. He was positioned next to the gunner in the window blister, a .50 calibre machine gun at his side. The medics doubled as gunners. Smoky was a stowaway and delivering her best performance ever, staying still and quiet until Bill was able to divulge her presence. Everyone understood why he had brought her along and it was agreed she could stay and the safest place for her bag was to hang off the top bunk. It was within Bill’s reach and that was all that mattered.

It was 3 a.m. when they took off on the mission to rescue a squadron pilot missing in action. Although the plane was on a rescue and reconnaissance mission, it did not have distinctive Red Cross markings. It was marked up the same as an American war plane and was equipped to return fire. They were headed for the island of Ceram, west of the New Guinea coast and as dawn broke they entered their search area. Bill knew the lost pilot, had flown with him and that made the mission personal. He was determined to scour every inch of terrain for signs of life. But there was nothing. Suddenly and violently, the plane was pitched into a squall and everything went black. They were flying blind and being buffeted from all sides. Wrestling to keep control, the pilot climbed to 12,000 feet but the storm was still with him. The Catalina was now at the mercy of the storm and the search mission had become a matter of survival. Bill put his hand over the musette bag where Smoky was hopefully still asleep. He resisted the urge to look inside because he knew he would want to take her out and hold her but it was unsafe to do that while the plane was lurching and rolling. She was safer in the bag and while she was still and quiet, Bill was reassured. He couldn’t help wondering how long she could stay quiet and calm as the storm raged around them but he hoped it would be until they entered the home stretch. For four hours the pilot, co-pilot and the navigator worked flat out to get the crew of nine men and one dog home. What had started out as a routine search had become one more victory over the violent and unpredictable weather. They were exhausted and, thankfully, as they entered the skies over Biak, the clouds lifted giving them clearance to land.

Safely back on solid ground, the men sat in the plane for a while just allowing their minds and bodies to calm. Bill unhooked the strap of the musette bag from the top bunk and put the bag over his shoulder. He felt along the bottom seam of the canvas and it was warm. He could just about feel the rise and fall of her tiny breaths; she was fine. He thanked the Good Lord and anyone else watching over them all. It was Smoky’s first experience in the air and she had survived alongside Bill.

From that moment, they flew with many other crews and all of them welcomed Smoky as one of the team. It became routine that as Bill boarded the Catalina he would hang the canvas bag, with Smoky inside, on the edge of the upper bunk for the flight. On the longer flights, Bill would let her run around on the bunk for short periods just so she could stretch her legs and be reassured everything was fine. Sometimes the vibration and the loud hum of the engines was not a rhythmic comfort for her but just a loud noise that made her bark. But she was happy to be with Bill and sensing he was there made everything all right. Even when a flight turned out to be more hazardous than first thought, Bill would make sure Smoky was a happy passenger. He never took risks with his dog’s safety and, at the same time, would never have compromised the pilot or any other crew member during a mission. He need not have worried about upsetting anyone, everyone was glad to have her along for the ride. Those precious moments when she was allowed out to play were special for the entire crew. They provided a short, surreal interlude from reality. Smoky had the ability to make people smile when there was very little to smile about.

One night, the Catalina with Bill and Smoky on board was due to take off at 3 a.m. to cover a bombing attack on Borneo. The bombers to follow at 5 a.m. and the fighters at 7 a.m. but bad weather halted the second and third wave leaving the ground. Consequently, the Catalina was heading for the target area alone. Not equipped for combat, the plane was now extremely vulnerable to enemy fire while still battling the weather. Bill had the aerial camera poised to take shots. It was almost impossible for the pilot to control the Catalina into a good position for Bill to take the shots he was looking for. The mantra for any recon squadron was to get in, get the shots and get out as quickly as possible but this flight was proving challenging on all fronts. The tension in the body of the plane was palpable. They sensed it was only a matter of time before enemy fighter planes would pick them up and then bring them down. Smoky was blissfully oblivious to the anxiety shared by the humans around her. It was later, when the situation was calm enough for Bill to bring her out of the bag, that everyone was able to feel the benefit of this little dog’s presence. That was one of the wonderful things about Smoky: just knowing she was there was a comfort and for many crews she became a good luck talisman at a time good fortune was at a premium.

When preparing to board for another thirteen-hour mission, Smoky decided to turn her last ‘relief’ break into a dash across the runway. It was 3 a.m. and pitch black but she could see where she was headed. Bill ran about 500 feet before he caught up with her and gave her a piece of his mind. He wasn’t really angry with her for running free, he understood that she probably realized what lay ahead and it’s possible she made up her mind that she would rather just play in the grass. She was a dog, after all. Bill was not really angry with her. His anger came from the thought that she could have strayed under the wheels of a plane or an airfield Jeep and been killed. For the rest of the crew, Smokey’s reluctance to fly was interpreted as an omen. When Bill had Smoky held firmly under his arm, he climbed the ladder into the belly of the Catalina. The crew stared at him and his dog in silence. Was it a bad omen? Did she delay the take off for a reason? Maybe it was to protect them from something awaiting them up there? Maybe the delay was important and prevented them being caught up in a storm of the dreaded Black Rain? Whatever it was that caused Smoky to run that morning and however superstitious the crew felt, it showed one thing: Smoky was considered one of them and she was important to each and every crew she flew with.

Smoky became something of a celebrity amongst the Catalina crews, particularly 3 ERS who flew with her those twelve times. Bill no longer had to keep her a secret from everyone but it was still essential that she was safe and secure during the flights when Bill had to concentrate on taking those crucial shots with the K-24 aerial camera. She spent most flights wrapped in a wool blanket to keep out the cold at high altitudes. It may not have always been the most comfortable environment for a dog but it was where she was closest to Bill and that was most important. This was a true partnership. Whether in the belly of a Catalina, at the foot of the US GI’s cot or trudging through the New Guinea jungle, man and dog were together. Smoky flew because Bill flew and so everyone around them had the benefit of the dog’s calming company.

Bill always used his non-flying time to teach Smoky some new tricks and he decided that he could teach her to ride a scooter. So, with just a few clever moves with his Bowie knife, Bill constructed a foot-long scooter out of a wooden orange crate. Pulleys and roller bearings salvaged from the engineers doubled as wheels. It was a runaway success. Someone found pots of red and white paint from somewhere and painted the scooter red with white wheels and the name Smoky along the footplate. The scooter and Smoky made their debut before a small but appreciative crowd of GIs on Biak Island. This sublime scene was to be recalled in sharp contrast against the turn the war was about to take for Smoky and for Bill.

The gravel-throated hum of the Catalina’s engines echoed in Bill’s head. It was a sound that had become so much a part of him that even a moment of silence was deafening. One mid-October afternoon, as the crew were heading back to Biak, Bill was trying to think of something other than the engine noise when he caught sight of a massive fleet of warships. Through the shifting cloud he could see the convoy heading in the opposite direction. Immediately, the pilot dipped the Catalina’s wings to show that it was friendly and just in time too as two Navy Corsairs swooped in to challenge them. Bill could make out battleships, cruisers, carriers and destroyers. The vast movement of naval hardware just kept moving and from the air it seemed the translucent blue of the Pacific was being swallowed-up by a dense pall of gunmetal grey. It took thirty minutes for the Catalina to pass over the naval convoy from beginning to end. Bill later discovered that the ships were heading for Leyte Gulf where they would engage in what was acknowledged by many as the largest naval battle in history.

The Battle of Leyte Gulf took place between 23 and 26 October 1944 and comprised four distinct engagements all fought off the island. It featured the largest battleships ever built – the Japanese Yamato and Musashi – who actually engaged each other in the battle. It was also the first time the Allies had encountered Japanese kamikaze aircraft. The pilots were young and zealous and ready to experience honour in death. The Battle of Leyte Gulf had been a long time coming. Since the Japanese sent their carrier-based aircraft to attack Pearl Harbor in December 1941, the United States of America and the entire Allied Force knew the Emperor had a plan of action. In fact, he had two: one for the east and one for the south. For the east, Pearl Harbor would be followed by the taking of the Philippines and then Guam and Wake to stifle the American communication system. In the south, he would attack Malaya and Hong Kong and then launch a systematic bombardment of the Bismark Archipelago, Java and Sumatra. This would then leave New Zealand and Australia totally isolated. For some months, the Japanese invasion of the Philippines looked impossible to stop. On 8 May 1942, the 80,000 soldiers of the US and Philippine Army were ordered to surrender the islands.

It had not helped that the US had divided their control over military activities in the Pacific. General Douglas MacArthur had been appointed Supreme Allied Commander South West Pacific. Meanwhile, the US Navy was under Admiral Chester Nimitz, giving him control of the rest of the Pacific Ocean. Two great men with one immensely hard job to do. The surrender highlighted the need for the Allies to pull together. By the time Bill Wynne received his call papers in Ohio, the tide had turned for the Japanese.

The skill of the code-breakers was critical if the US Forces were to be one step ahead of the enemy. Discovering an imminent attack on Port Moresby in New Guinea, in May 1942 Admiral Nimitz rushed the aircraft carrier USS Lexington to join the USS Yorktown and the American–Australian Task Force with orders to confront the Japanese attack. Port Moresby could not fall to the enemy. If it did, Japan would have control of the seas to the north of Australia. What followed was the Battle of the Coral Sea: a naval battle fought between the aircraft based on the carriers. The carriers did not meet or exchange fire but the damage they caused was enough to send the Japanese into retreat. Although at great losses, the Allied victory secured Port Moresby.

The Battle of Midway in June 1942was to prove critical in the Pacific War. The Japanese had relied on superior gun power to win over the opposition but this sea battle was about superiority in the air and the US claimed that advantage. The Japanese were then unable to force a ground battle leaving the US Navy calling the shots. The Japanese Navy was feeling the strain of not being able to repair and replace its hardware as swiftly as the Americans. All over New Guinea, the effects of these battles were being reflected on land. By late 1942, the Japanese were retreating in the highlands of New Guinea and with the assistance of Australian Forces the US was able to capture the Buna-Gona beachhead in early 1943. This had been a key position for the Japanese invasion. The Allied leaders of the Asian and Pacific Theatres – Chinese leader Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek, US President Franklin D. Roosevelt and British Prime Minister Winston Churchill – met in Cairo to discuss the way ahead with Japan. In June 1943, the Allies launched Operation Cartwheel which defined the strategy for the South Pacific. The plan was to starve the Japanese out of their base at Rabaul and sever the communication lines. This prepared the way for Nimitz’s target to reach Japan or at least get close enough to launch a series of strategic air attacks to facilitate invasion. The Allies’ movement across the Pacific seizing one island after another was underway. The use of submarines in the Pacific War had previously been underestimated. Now they became one of the single most powerful forces capable of crippling the Japanese. US subs were responsible for destroying 56 per cent of the enemy’s merchant ships. Mines and aircraft were responsible for the rest. They were used in reconnaissance and, as in the Battle of Midway had sighted the enemy fleet approaching giving the Allies the advantage. They were also responsible for saving many lives, especially of downed flyers.

When 128,000 US Army troops and Marines landed on the island of Saipan on 15 June 1944, the objective was to create the airfields that were to send B-29s over Tokyo. The plan had been devised over ninety days and it had to work because it was imperative the Allies secure the island. It was equally important to the Japanese Commanders to retain it. And to do this, they would have to destroy the US Fifth Fleet which comprised 15 carriers with 956 planes, seven battleships, 28 submarines, 69 destroyers and several cruisers. Admiral Raymond A. Spruance was in command. The opposition, under Vice Admiral Jisaburo Ozawa was outclassed and outnumbered by the Allies. But this battle was all about strategy and the one advantage Ozawa had was that his fighter planes were lighter than the US Navy Hellcat and therefore had a greater range. By positioning his fleet 300 miles out, he could attack the US carriers, land at Guam to refuel and then hit again. It could have worked if the planes had not arrived in staggered sequence allowing the US Hellcats to pick them off. Nimitz’s carriers had individual combat information centres and were onto the Japanese plan right away. The Emperor’s Navy was virtually destroyed. And Saipan was in US hands.

When General Douglas MacArthur waded ashore at Leyte on 20 October 1944 he was flanked by the Sixth United States Army. His landing had been the result of successful bombardment by air and sea which cleared the way through. While the Sixth Army continued its advance from the east and the enemy tried to re-enforce their position from the west, the US Fifth Air Force was able to stop the Japanese attempts to resupply. Even though, by 7 December, the US Army was in control and the Allies had cut off the Japanese ability to supply Leyte, fierce battles were still taking place. Neither side was going to let go of their prize easily. It was into this background that Bill and Smoky went into battle.

Around the same time Bill saw the convoy of ships heading for Leyte, he received news that he was due combat leave having notched up seventy-three hours flying time in thirteen missions over ten weeks. He had been expecting a response to his application for promotion but this news was just as good. He packed for ten days R & R in Sydney and hitched a ride on a Transport Command C-47. Of course, Smoky took leave too as there was no way Bill would go anywhere without her. But their break was not to be the restful time they had hoped for – man and dog still managed to have a few adventures.