Soldier Dogs #6: Heroes on the Home Front

Prologue

JUNE 28, 1943

PALM BEACH, FLORIDA

10:31 P.M. LOCAL TIME

As the riptide pulled him out to sea, Charlie still couldn’t believe the war had come to him. Right here, to his hometown.

He knew about what was happening across the world. The war was inescapable—every day on the radio, he’d heard reports of Hitler’s march across Europe, through Poland and France. In newsreels at the local theater he’d seen how the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor, dragging the United States into this terrible world conflict. And even without the news, he saw the struggle every day on the streets. When he walked through the courtyard of his apartment building and saw the victory garden, when he strolled down the street and never encountered a man between eighteen and twenty-five.

Every minute he spent mourning Dad . . . that was part of it. The war existed in some shape or form for every moment of his life.

But he’d never dreamed it would be like this.

All around him bobbed pieces of burning wreckage, hunks of wood and metal. Huge slicks of flaming oil blazed along the surface of the water. His twin sister, Kate, shrieked his name and reached out for him from the end of a human chain, but no matter how hard he swam, Charlie couldn’t reach her. Quite the opposite—with every second, the water pulled him farther and farther away. It was as if the sea were hungry and wanted Charlie for a snack.

A wave crashed over Charlie’s head. Water filled his mouth, and he choked and coughed. He thought of Buster, his faithful dog, who’d been taken away by the coast guard for basic training. If only Buster were here now to help him. He couldn’t believe the old boy was gone.

As his muscles grew tired and he found himself unable to keep treading water, Charlie thought that it made no sense that he would die in this war. He was only a kid! An American kid! From Florida! The war happened in London, and Paris, and Japan! Not here! Not America!

Another wave hit him in the face. He sank below the surface, swallowed by blackness.

Chapter 1

JUNE 12, 1943

OCEAN REEF PARK, FLORIDA

10:21 A.M. LOCAL TIME

"See anything?"

Charlie raised the binoculars back up to his eyes. By now, he was sweaty from the morning heat, and he felt the rubber padding squish against his face. He scanned the line of the beach, blazing white sand on top and brilliant blue water underneath. Other than a leathery-looking old couple in big hats strolling along the shore and a sandpiper speeding away from a crashing wave, it was empty.

Then, a blur of fur. A flash of sharp teeth. And—

Buster, stop! Charlie laughed, pushing the family Labrador retriever away. It was no use—Buster wanted attention, and Charlie knew that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Buster kept licking the lenses of the binoculars, and when Charlie pulled them away the big yellow Lab just moved forward and started licking his face. Charlie did his best to keep Buster off, but his resistance was half-hearted, and soon he was lying on his back in the scraggly grass, cackling as he tried to shield his face from the barrage of dog kisses.

Careful, said Kate. She grabbed the binoculars away from him and wiped the lenses on the hem of her shirt.

Ah, they’ll be fine, said Charlie, finally pushing Buster off and climbing to his feet. He brushed sand and crabgrass from his butt and reached out to his twin sister, motioning for the binoculars. Those were made by the navy. They’re meant to take a beating.

Kate frowned and squinted into the distance; Charlie had seen the look before, and he thought its underlying message was that’s not the point, dingus.

These were Dad’s, mumbled Kate, and handed the binoculars back to him. Be careful with them.

The words sent a wave of cold over Charlie that seemed to cut through the Florida heat. I know, he said, but it felt like a small and silly response, like he was a little kid and not eleven years old. He took the binocs back and raised them to his eyes, trying to focus on the beach and not on how his sister’s words made him feel. It’s not like he was stupid. He knew why they were out there, watching the beach, same as they had for days. Because of Dad. Because he was gone.

Anything? said Kate.

Nope, he sighed.

Any balloon bombs? she said. Don’t just watch the beach, look at the sky too.

I said nothing, said Charlie, looking up in the air just in case.

At their feet, Buster whined. He trotted over to Kate and began winding between her legs. Kate bent down and petted him, whispering, Calm down, Buster, but the dog couldn’t stop moving.

His anxiousness only deepened the sadness in Charlie’s heart. Dad was the only one who’d been able to get Buster to stay still for more than ten seconds. Now that he was gone, Buster was a nonstop blur.

After a few seconds, Kate sighed and turned back into the park.

Come on, she said. If there’s nothing here, we should walk up the coast a bit to the beach. It’ll tire Buster out too.

Charlie grabbed his backpack, and the two of them began walking north toward Ocean Reef Park. Up ahead, the morning’s first sunbathers and swimmers had just set up on the white sand beach in front of one of the resorts. Charlie and Kate usually stuck to the park for U-boat watching—ever since Barry Thomas, the lifeguard at the resort farther north, had laughed at them in front of a bunch of tourists.

All Barry cared about was keeping people on the beach and in the resort. Not military work. Not the war.

These were Dad’s. Charlie swallowed hard. He wasn’t stupid. He knew the binocs had belonged to their father, and that they’d never get him back. Dad died when a U-boat—a Nazi submarine, famous for being silent and powerful—attacked his ship off the coast of Honduras. But just because Dad was gone didn’t mean that he’d want the twins to treat all of his belongings like treasures they couldn’t touch. Kate did that all the time, refusing to let Charlie handle Dad’s stuff for long, always yelling that he had to be more careful. No one was allowed to sit in Dad’s armchair in the living room. No one was allowed to listen to Dad’s old radio.

Charlie frowned at the idea. He was allowed to use the binocs when and wherever he liked. Kate wasn’t the boss of him.

Just to prove it to himself, he raised the binoculars to his eyes and stared out at the ocean.

He froze. A new, sharper wave of cold washed over him.

Was that . . .

Kate, he said, grabbing his sister by the arm.

Ouch! Hey, watch it. Kate saw Charlie looking through the binocs and went quiet. What is it? A U-boat?

Charlie squinted and looked between the wriggling glimmers of light on the surface of the water. Had he just imagined it, or . . .

Two hands shot out of the water and waved. There, just audible over the sea breeze, he heard it:

HELP!

It’s a boy, said Charlie, lowering the binoculars and beginning to jog onto the hot sand of the beach. He’s drowning. Come on!

Chapter 2

JUNE 12, 1943

PALM BEACH, FLORIDA

10:38 A.M. LOCAL TIME

Oh boy, running! Charlie was running! Buster launched into a full-on sprint. He loved running! He could run faster than both of them! Look, a crab!

Buster pounded the sand fast enough to get up in front of Charlie, and he immediately saw that something was wrong. The boy’s face wasn’t full of the grinning excitement Buster was used to. Instead, both he and Kate had the sharp, wide expressions