Belka, Why Don't You Bark - By Hideo Furukawa Page 0,12

a “prisoner” dog and the five four-month-old purebred German shepherds as “candidate” military dogs—were housed in the spacious training center at Camp Lejeune. All six went on to become American military dogs—following, as it were, the script that had been written for them. Explosion’s unplanned union with a Japanese dog (Masao) had, as it happened, yielded an outstanding litter. It was hardly a surprise that the pups exhibited all the usual traits of the breed and were free from imperfections. Indeed, the superiority of their bloodline had come to an even fuller fruition in them. They seemed to have inherited only the best aspects of the latest breeding as it was practiced by the Japanese and American militaries. Having been tested in any number of areas, all five placed in the A class. Masao, too, exceeded expectations. The pups’ father adapted immediately to the commands his new American masters taught him. He made it abundantly clear how much he could do, almost as though he knew that this was an inspection, to see if he was fit to be admitted as an immigrant, to become an American. Within two months, the father and his pups were reunited, allowed to live together.

In order to be recognized as a full-fledged military dog, a pup must have reached a certain age. Military dogs can’t be too young. So it wasn’t until the fall, when the five pups were about a year old, that they were finally shipped off to the front lines. By then they had been thoroughly trained. They had learned how to carry out various tasks: guarding, reconnaissance, attacking, transport. They were sent onto mock battlefields where they were inured to bomb blasts, smoke, flames. They learned to crawl under barbed wire. All five were certified as A-class dogs and sent to various islands in the Pacific. Masao had gone off to war months earlier. He no longer felt any compunction about attacking the Japanese.

During the latter half of 1943, American forces were engaged in a vast campaign across the Pacific Ocean. On November 1, troops landed on Bougainville Island, at the northern edge of the Solomon Islands; shortly thereafter they took Rabaul on New Britain, the site of a Japanese naval and air base, and the fighting shifted north of the equator. February 1944 saw the inauguration of a fierce campaign against the Marshall and the Chuuk island group; on June 15, the Americans landed on Saipan; two months later they had captured the Marianas. And then they advanced on the Philippines. The Japanese sustained a disastrous defeat in a land battle on Leyte. A war of attrition was being fought on Luzon. And then it was 1945. A land battle of incredible scale broke out on Iwo Jima, and the fighting moved to Okinawa.

How many people died in all?

And how many dogs?

Tens of thousands. Literally tens of thousands, all across the Pacific. And those dogs were among the casualties. One after another, they were killed in battle. Only one of their number was still alive when, in August 1945, two atom bombs—one made of uranium that was called Little Boy, one made of plutonium that was called Fat Man—flashed within the space of a few days over the Japanese islands of Honshū and Kyūshū.

That dog wasn’t Masao. It was one of Masao’s children. Four puppies in that litter of nine, four of the little ones that had come into this world alive after Masao and Explosion mated, were dead now. Only one returned unscathed.

Returned to the American mainland. From the west side of the Pacific to the east. A German shepherd named Bad News. A male.

America, having emerged victorious, continued to expand its military dog population. The kennels were maintained. Because the dogs remained useful. Their numbers had to be increased in preparation for the next war. Stronger dogs, better dogs. Some of the active dogs were selected for breeding. Bad News, an A-class male, was given the right to mate.

The right to straddle beautiful female dogs.

And then there was Kita, in Alaska.

In 1945, Kita became a lead dog. His authority in the team could not be challenged. The musher who was his master treated him as his best friend, trusted him implicitly. After all, Kita had saved his life. They were bound now by a powerful tie; each understood what the other was thinking. Kita’s master had always been a talented and energetic musher, but now that he had Kita as his lead dog he began winning even