No Better Friend: Young Readers Edition

SINGAPORE

Judy spent the months before the start of the Pacific war (the war was already well under way in Europe by now) performing routine patrol duties aboard the Grasshopper and relaxing in the homes of local officials in the Singapore government and military.

Frank's radar unit didn't have it so good. Immediately, problems cropped up. Equipment failed, and replacement parts were hard to come by. The ancient planes they had to work with, far less modern than the RAF aircraft that had won the Battle of Britain (see sidebar), weren't up to snuff. But there was no fighting yet, and the men enjoyed Singapore greatly.

On December 7, 1941, that changed drastically. The Japanese attacked the US Navy base at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii (see sidebar). It was part of a broader wave of invasions across the Pacific by the Japanese, one that included Siam (now Thailand) and Malaya (now Malaysia). Both nations were close to Singapore, the center of strength for the British Empire in Asia. The island had a huge military presence, including the large naval base, and it was considered invulnerable. Certainly, few there were concerned about the Japanese.

This turned out to be a mistake, because the Japanese, led by General Tomoyuki Yamashita, the "Tiger of Malaya," swept through the British defenses in a matter of weeks. By February, they had conquered Siam and Malaya and were entering Singapore itself. Frank and the air force he served with were ineffective, and the Japanese established total air superiority over Singapore. They sank the majority of Britain's large naval ships in the Pacific and relentlessly pummeled the troops on the ground.

Fewer than two weeks later, the British were forced—incredibly—to surrender. Singapore was in shock at how fast it had all happened. Many civilians and military personnel were evacuated aboard the few ships that had yet to be sunk by the Japanese, one of which was Judy's Grasshopper. The ship was at anchor in Singapore's Keppel Harbor. Frank was among the lucky few allowed to leave. Most servicemen were left behind and were taken captive by the Japanese.

As Japan's army advanced, Keppel Harbor was crowded with refugees of all types. There were retreating soldiers, stoic government workers, terrified Chinese, and stunned colonial families. Some staggered along with everything they owned; others took nothing save the clothing they wore.

All had their eyes on the prize—a place aboard one of the ragtag group of ships that swung at anchor in the harbor, waiting to take them away from the invading Japanese. Wave after wave of refugees crushed toward the makeshift fleet of rescue vessels.

Singapore was supposed to be invincible, but the Japanese captured the city shortly after invading. In the final days of British rule, the oil fields near Keppel Harbor were set ablaze to keep them from the Japanese.

It was February 12, 1942.

Judy watched the chaos below from the deck of the Grasshopper. If the mayhem made her particularly nervous, she didn't show it. She sat quietly near the rail, occasionally walking to the other end of the ship, only to return, as if transfixed by the display on the pier.

Judy's nose was incredibly powerful. She had a much better sense of smell than the people all around her. And that was tough, because the harbor stank. The usual waterfront stench of rotting vegetation, fish, and fuel was mixed with the reek of raw sewage—and the overpowering stink of the bombed-out city. The horrible smells of scorched rubber, wood burnt to ash, and the victims of the Japanese invasion made people retch.

Meanwhile, the bombs continued to fall, many right there on the docks. Long stretches of inaction, as the Royal Navy attempted an orderly boarding and escape, were interrupted by dizzying moments of horror as Japanese bombers nicknamed Nells appeared out of nowhere. The shriek of a bomb's approach would join with the cries of those trying to escape it. And then an explosion, often quieter or less dramatic than many expected. Many bombs missed badly, landing in the harbor, sending up fountains of dark water, or, in the city, smashing the homes the people in the harbor had just left, causing flames to leap into the darkening sky. But some bombs struck the dock area, and Judy's floppy ears heard the sounds of people screaming and moaning.

But Judy was a veteran war dog by now, thanks to her service in China. She had seen plenty of suffering and shots fired in anger there. So she remained calm, occasionally running under the steel cover of the bridge when the noise of falling bombs cut through the air. Her ability to sense danger was keeping her alive, but for how much longer?

FLIGHT

The next day, around midmorning, the gunboats were ordered to take on passengers and be ready to leave that evening. Judy was excited, hopping about as the first of the refugees piled onto the Grasshopper.

For these unfortunate people, all had been well merely nine weeks before. They were living peaceful lives, filled with family, friends, careers, education, and fun. With sickening speed, all of it had been wrenched away by the invading Japanese. Hopes and dreams were gone, along with many of their possessions and their sense of home. Now survival was all that mattered.

One of Judy's best human friends on the Grasshopper was George White (coincidentally, he came from Frank's hometown, Portsmouth). George was in charge of the ship's food and water supplies, and he had to scramble to find a way to feed the new mouths on board, managing to come up with a cup of tea and a slab of chocolate for every passenger.

Meanwhile, Judy was doing her best to settle the civilians. She was seen constantly nuzzling up to the many crying, frightened children, hoping to give them a familiar and friendly sight, and "personally greeted virtually everyone on board," according to George.

Nearby was another gunboat from the Yangtze River, the Dragonfly, along with numerous smaller ships. Two of these were SS Tien Kwang and HMS Kuala, tanker steamers that were now part of the Royal Navy. Frank and his fellow RAF radarmen were on their way to escape aboard the Tien Kwang.

It hadn't exactly been a glorious war thus far for Frank Williams. His radar systems worked badly, if at all, and his air force had been chased from the sky by the Japanese. Now he was retreating madly from an army he and his countrymen had considered harmless mere weeks before.

Upon their arrival at the pier, the RAF evacuees were pointed toward the Tien Kwang, and Frank waited in a long line while he and the other 265 radarmen prepared to board, along with numerous army personnel and a handful of civilians. Next door to Tien Kwang, the other converted steamer, Kuala, had been loaded to bursting, stuffed with refugees and whatever belongings they could squeeze on board; in all, it sailed with between five and six hundred people.

Judy's boat, the Grasshopper, captained by Commander Jack Hoffman, pulled away from the docks for good. Screams from the unfortunate civilians left behind trailed the boat as it powered into the harbor.

The Dragonfly followed. Out ahead of the gunboats, Tien Kwang and Kuala were tacking a different course in the same direction. They were all headed for the same place, the city of Batavia, the capital of the Dutch East Indies (the city and the country have since been renamed Jakarta and Indonesia). A large Western presence there promised immediate safety and the likelihood of larger ships for escape to India, Ceylon, or Australia.

But to get to Batavia, they needed to sail across long stretches of ocean, where the Japanese were waiting for them.

ATTACK

The wind howled through Judy's ears as the gunboats pushed hard under the comforting cloak of darkness. The pointer should have been deeply asleep, but noise and people and fear kept her from anything but brief snoozing. She curled up near George on occasion, but just as often lent her comforting presence to the many scared civilians on board. The ship was packed from stem to stern with refugees, most dirty and disheveled, all exhausted by their ordeal. They slept anywhere they could find an unclaimed spot. Judy's warm fur and cold nose were something familiar and happy for them; nothing else was.

Finally, the sun rose, and with it the dread aboard the gunboats. As the new day, February 14, 1942, began, Japanese flight operations were beginning, and scout planes were taking to the sky. Bomber crews were breakfasting, likely confident of the damage they would inflict that day. Everyone on the Grasshopper (except Judy) knew this could well be their last day on earth. The strong among them buried the thought and carried on. For about two hours, the gunboats made good progress, but a few minutes past 9 a.m., their luck ran out.

After her fitful night, Judy had been quiet as day broke, content to make her way around the deck and lie panting in the heat. But now she began a sharp barking. The crew knew what that meant and looked up to the skies. Sure enough, a Japanese seaplane appeared above.

It immediately commenced a dive attack, dropping one bomb at the Grasshopper that missed badly, then turning and tossing another bomb at Dragonfly. This one was a much better attempt, exploding close enough to the gunboat to cause slight, but not critical, damage to its bow. The seaplane disappeared, but that was small comfort to those on board the gunboats—the seaplane's big brothers now knew where they were, and a mission was being planned as the damage was assessed.

By eleven thirty, land had been spotted, and the gunboats closed to within two miles of the island of Posic, a tiny extension of lava and sand that scarcely poked out of the water. Bombers soon appeared in formation out of the south. "Aircraft off the port beam!" someone shouted. Judy was barking madly at them, and the antiaircraft guns opened up.

But there were far too many planes (one Dragonfly sailor counted 123) coming in far too fast for any possible defense. Having passed over the ships, they broke formation and attacked in the standard nine-plane groups that had become all too familiar to the sailors and civilians alike.

The bombers, nicknamed Sallies, began their attack runs from between two and four thousand feet above the water and came in five-minute intervals. The ships zigzagged madly in the direction of Posic, hoping to round the island and find some sort of cover. Wave after wave of bombers shrieked overhead, drowning out the screams of the civilians and Judy's angry yelps.

Grasshopper avoided bomb after bomb, but Dragonfly wasn't so lucky. It took a direct hit amidships, a blow that practically split the boat in half. Two other bombs connected near the front of the ship (called the bow), including an explosion that laced the bridge area with shrapnel and debris.

Officially, forty crewmen were reported killed, including Malayan crew, in the explosions that ripped the Dragonfly apart. Plenty of others remained alive, but desperate. There wasn't much time, as Dragonfly was going under fast. It was burning badly in the bow and was splintering down the middle. Several sailors launched a lifeboat and a couple of circular flotation devices called Carley floats.

The Dragonfly