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  “There they are, Homer!”

  Homer was angry and set out to avenge the death of Somerset. He placed his claws firmly into one of the bird’s neck while putting his weight on the carrier pigeon’s back, holding his wings closed, and they slowly descended.

  “Where do you think you are going bird slayer?”

  The other carrier pigeon was also taken by surprise when Clovis wrestled him down to the ground before releasing him.

  Clovis insisted Homer let the pigeon go unharmed, and the bird flew hastily back into the forest.

  Homer was frustrated with Clovis. “Why are we just letting them go after what they did to Somerset?”

  “We have done what we came here to do, Homer. Mission completed!”

  “You are so stubborn, Clovis.”

  The bird empire was ruled by Vogelzar, and he had officially declared war on the patriots, as well as the allied carrier pigeons. Clovis knew that one day they may be compelled to use deadly force.

  One morning as daylight barely peeked through the forest, rapid thumping sounds awakened Clovis. Homer was pecking at every morsel on the ground without pausing. After joining Homer on the ground, Clovis watched him for a moment.

  “What are you doing, Homer?”

  “If this forest is destroyed, there won’t be any trees, and if there aren’t any trees, then there won’t be any seeds, and if there aren’t any seeds, there won’t be any food.”

  “Rise above it Homer. We will always be able to find food.”

  “And look,” leading Clovis to his nest. “I’m losing my feathers!”

  “You are molting, Homer, all birds do.”

  “You mean it isn’t because I’m not getting enough food?”

  “No, didn’t your father teach you about that?”

  “We were never close. He said that I wouldn’t listen to him anyway.”

  For a moment, something about Clovis distracted Homer.

  “I never noticed those marks on the side of your neck before.”

  “Are they like the ones my Papa had?” asked Clovis proudly, turning his head side to side, recognizing it as a sign of maturity.

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “And Homer, I’ve noticed that you have grown much faster than me, and the combs over your eyes are a brighter red.”

  “I got that from the pheasant side of my family.”

  Clovis and Homer thrived in their maturity, and began to form a bond that would surpass their childhood rivalry. They shared a brotherly love that would last a lifetime.

  Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by rustling sounds coming from the battlefield. Trench raiding was not uncommon on the battlefield. They flew to their lookout to investigate. In the pre-dawn morning, they could see the enemy crawling on their bellies toward the allied trench lines, quietly dragging their rifle bayonets for a surprise attack. With their weapons still clinched in their arms, the unsuspecting allies were fast asleep, leaning against the parapets. Aware of the impending danger, Homer stretched out his neck.

  “Where’s the whistleblower?”

  Clovis realized they had to warn the troops, and turned to Homer. “I’m looking at him!”

  “Me?”

  “You want to build another nest?”

  With that comment, Homer let out a shrill that echoed throughout no man’s land. The warning alerted the allied troops who responded so quickly that the enemy almost crawled backward in their hasty retreat.

  “Good work, Homer!”

  Later that day, they would discover a new kind of invention when they spotted an enemy carrier crossing the allied trench line over the smoke- filled battlefield undetected. They followed him into the forest and brought him down. Each standing on one wing with the carrier lying on his back, Clovis and Homer stared at the funny looking box strapped on his chest. Click! Click! The box opened and closed at specified intervals.

  “What kind of canister is this?” asked Homer.

  “It’s not a canister, stupid; it’s a camera that take pictures. Now, let me go.”

  “First, tell us what a camera is before we let you go,” replied Clovis.

  “It takes pictures of the number of soldiers in the trenches and where they are located,” he confessed.

  “He’s spying on the troops, Clovis.”

  “What is your name?” asked Clovis.

  “Der Tourist.”

  “I don’t know how to open this one, Homer, Let’s keep all of it.”

  “You are thieves,” yelled the carrier as they removed the equipment.

  “No,” chuckled Homer. “You said they were our pictures, right?”

  Der Tourist was finally released.

  Homer suggested that the allies should know about the camera. But, they soon agreed that bringing it to their attention might jeopardize their own safety. They buried it deep in the woods.

  After returning to their homes that evening, Homer thought about the early morning sneak attack.

  “Are you awake, Clovis?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m tired, but I can’t sleep.”

  “Why keep me awake?”

  “Well, I keep having the same dream – that we’ll wake up in enemy territory . . .or something.”

  Clovis thought for a moment and realized they had been neglecting their night vigils.

  “Okay, back to guard duty.”

  “You get the first watch, remember?” reminded Homer.

  The following day, as they perched on the branch of their lookout once again, Clovis felt weary and longed for peace. Looking for a brief escape, he bowed his head for a few moments and let his mind drift to a more peaceful time. The constant rattling of machine guns and loud ground artillery slowly faded in the distance as he dreamed about the tranquil sounds of Doveland: The gentle flow of sunlit waters; the twitter of wild birds; soft breezes shuffling through the pines, and the simple sound of an acorn falling on the ground… Suddenly, he felt startled.

  “Clovis!” Homer kept repeating. “Can you hear me?”

  Clovis remembered the pact they had made to never mention Doveland again.

  “Yeah, I guess I fell asleep for a moment.”

  CHAPTER 10

  The sting of winter was once again upon no man’s land, as the Tommies draped their sleeping blankets over their thick woolen tunics to keep warm. A cold windy drizzle hung over the battlefield as sounds of gunfire decreased in no man’s land. Both sides huddled inside the trenches to avoid the bitter cold winds. Clovis and Homer watched from their lookout as the cold rain dripped through the tree foliage above them, saturating their feathers. With the lack of role models, they sometimes emulated the behavior of the troops to survive the elements.

  “I have a good idea!” announced Homer.

  “What?” Clovis asked while shivering.

  “Why don’t we dig our own trench in the ground like the allies to keep warm?”

  “Okay, do you think it will work?”

  “S-s-sure, I’m freezing.”

  Into the woods they went to find a perfect location. The cold drizzle turned to sleet as they hurriedly began to dig into the frozen mud. They turned around, back to back, only to backlash each other. When that didn’t work, they stood side by side and began working their claws into the frozen mud. They worked together until they prepared a small furrow at an angle they could exit.

  “This will be better than a tree nest. You’ll see!” bragged Homer.

  When it was large enough for both of them to slide down, Homer pulled an evergreen twig over their opening as they slid down inside. Soon, they began to relax in their warm environment, protected from the north winds.

  “You are one smart grouse, Homer!”

  “A partridge, Clovis, did I tell you I come from a smart line of partridges?”

  “How can you be related to so many birds?”

  When Clovis heard no answer, he knew Homer had fallen asleep in a warm comfortable environment.

  The next m
orning, ground artillery commenced at dawn, awakening the birds.

  Overnight, several inches of snow had fallen above them.

  “If it’s already daylight, how come it is so dark in here?” asked Clovis.

  “Are my eyes open?” Is it still night? First, my hearing goes, now I can’t see!” shrieked Homer.

  “Calm down, Homer, it is too dark in here to see.”

  “We’re buried alive?”

  “Rise above it, Homer, and help loosen the branch.”

  Clovis tried to peck at the hard pieces of ice glued to the pieces of evergreen.

  “My beak is numb,” slurred Homer.

  They finally pecked a small hole through the ice and soft snow crumbled in.

  “I can breathe again!” sighed Homer.

  Finally, they emerged out of the small hole, one at a time, and flapped the snow off their wings. Clovis began to criticize Homer.

  “If it had been rain, I suppose the smart partridge side of your family would have drowned us!”

  “Rise above it, Clovis!” he retorted.

  Clovis began to laugh at Homer.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing really, it’s just that those squishy combs over your eyes are frozen stiff.”

  “Well, the feathers on your head would be frozen if you had any.”

  They both began to laugh at each other with cold numb beaks, glad to be alive.

  Later that day, they returned to the sidelines to find the intensity of warfare gradually decreasing once again. Both sides of the battlefield were huddled deep inside the trenches to shield themselves from the bitter cold winds. Clovis and Homer found a warm lookout in a nearby underbrush.

  It was the second Christmas into the war, which meant another holiday truce. The grenadier and his friends gathered around a small fire to keep warm, while Clovis and Homer chose to remain in their warm underbrush and stay out of trouble this holiday.

  As the weather grew warmer and spring was approaching once again, Clovis and Homer set out in search of enemy carrier pigeons delivering messages. While they were taking the message out of the canister, they noticed another flyer overhead. There was a change in the pattern of communication. Enemy carriers were being liberated in pairs. Their strategy had to change. They would work alone, and meet back at the lookout, unless something went wrong. This strategy worked for weeks. One day Homer didn’t show up and Clovis flew around looking for him. Finally, he found him wandering around on the floor of the forest, disoriented.

  “What happened?”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out!”

  “Are you okay?”

  “All I know is I took down this crazy red hen, and when we hit the ground, she started pecking the daylights out of me. I tried to explain that I wasn’t a roving bird looking for a mate, but it was too late. Then she flew away.”

  “It’s okay, Homer.”

  Homer looked up at Clovis. His head was bloody, and one of the combs over his eyes was torn, with a tiny piece of fleshy skin over his eye.

  “Can you see okay, Homer?”

  “I guess so, but from now on, we’ll leave the hens to you!”

  “Okay.”

  One afternoon, as Clovis and Homer perched on the sidelines, an enemy carrier pigeon entered their side of the forest just a few yards down. The strange behavior seemed intentional. Homer waited while Clovis investigated.

  Clovis hid among the trees as he quietly scanned the forest for the mysterious flyer. To his alarming surprise, the bird had rejoined an army of enemy carrier pigeons. There were more than a dozen lined along the branches, possibly ready to launch a deadly attack on Clovis and Homer. His fear was confirmed when he spotted the Spitter among them.

  Clovis returned to Homer.

  “What did you find out?”

  “One is all they wanted us to see.”

  “They, who are they, Clovis?”

  “The Spitter is among them.”

  “More than four?”

  “I didn’t count them.”

  Homer began to quiver with visions of being attacked and pecked to death, like Somerset.

  Clovis had a plan that might work, but first he would have to convince Homer to go along.

  “We can always desert the troops and join the birds in southern France.” suggested Clovis.

  “Why not? We’re doomed if we stay!”

  “Of course,” Clovis continued, “If we choose to flee, it would mean victory for Vogelzar, and he would become ruler of the bird empire!”

  Homer grimaced, as he could see that Clovis had no intention of letting that happen.

  “How can the two of us win a fight against an army of birds, huh?”

  “I have a plan that may work. We need some boom.”

  “You mean the grenadier’s boom?”

  Clovis began to explain how they would place a grenade in the middle of the forest. Homer would wait with the pin intact, while Clovis led the flock close to the floor of the forest. Clovis would timely signal Homer to release the pin from the grenade, and both of them would escape the explosion. The crimson combs over Homer’s eyes began to rise.

  “You want me to sit on a grenade that goes boom?”

  When Clovis did not answer, Homer grimaced.

  “Well, you can forget it, Clovis!” He began moving down to the end of the branch.

  Clovis paced Homer’s steps, and spoke to him in a grim tone.

  “It’s our turn to go over the top, my friend.”

  Like the Tommies in the trenches, they were outnumbered, and would be unable to defend themselves against an attack. Homer finally agreed, and they proceeded as planned.

  The grenadier always set two grenades on the parapet. While he was opening another box, they quickly selected one of the grenades and began rolling it quickly toward the woods. The grenadier emerged to find one missing. Looking all around, he spotted the two birds wrestling with it a short distance away. His first instinct was to retrieve it, but leaving his post may compromise the safety of his fellow comrades.

  They stopped in the middle of the woods and Homer carefully positioned his claw inside the pin. He was more afraid than he had ever been in his life, ever. Clovis warned Homer that timing was everything. He must wait for his whistle before pulling the pin.

  Clovis flew into the forest straight toward the waiting band of enemy carrier pigeons. As soon as Clovis was sure the enemy carriers saw him, he made a startling turnabout performance. Leaping up and away from the oncoming band of enemy carriers, he kept the flock at a safe distance close to the ground, navigating around trees and shrubs. The moment Homer heard Clovis whistle, he pulled the pin and quickly fled into the forest followed by Clovis who passed over the ticking grenade at ground-breaking speed, dodging trees in his path.

  The explosion sent forest debris high into the air. When Clovis and Homer met up, they were overwhelmed by the success of their actions.

  Meanwhile, the grenadier noticed bird feathers floating in the air among the forest debris in the distance, and felt responsible.

  “Those poor birds,” he uttered. “I should have looked after them.”

  Clovis and Homer were safe for the moment. But, they were aware of the growing dangers of continuing their exploits. Their mission had ended on the sidelines for now. They decided to fly north to the Netherlands, a neutral country.

  CHAPTER 11

  Clovis and Homer landed in the marshy region of the Netherlands and began foraging for food.

  “No more adventures, Clovis, okay?”

  Before Clovis could reply, they heard a voice in the background.

  “Hier, vogeltje, vogeltje” (Here, birdie, birdie), repeated in a higher pitch.

  They followed the voice to a nearby village where they watched an old woman, clinching her apron full of bread crumbs, and tossing them to the ground.

  “Look, bread crumbs, my dream come true!” Homer rejoiced.

  Clovis suggested that Homer wa
it before rushing to join the tiny birds. Among the summer visitors were sandpipers, plovers, and a few larks. Chirping sounds increased when a large vagrant grouse landed among them, and began devouring all the delicious morsels. The old lady warned Homer, and began to shoo the large bird, but he paid her no mind until she unexpectedly steamed toward him with a brickbat in her hand. Homer dodged the flying missile which barely nipped his tail in his efforts to escape. Panting with fear, he returned to find Clovis amused at the whole incident.

  “It’s not funny, Clovis. She would have killed me!”

  “You are not a birdie, Homer.”

  “A bird is a bird, is a bird!” he grimaced as he watched the bread crumbs on the ground disappear one by one.

  They returned to the marshy grassland and began browsing for grass seeds. Soon, they noticed a large pigeon flying from the east, and they wasted no time hiding in the underbrush as its large shadow swept over them. The familiar red scarf sent chills over Homer.

  “It’s Vogelzar, remember him?” asked Clovis.

  “Kommandant Vogelzar, without his chain!”

  “This could be an important mission, Homer.”

  “No, Clovis, we’re no match for him.”

  It was too late. Clovis leaped up into the air to follow Vogelzar, and the reluctant Homer soon joined him. Staying a safe distance behind, they followed Vogelzar as he continued his flight across the Netherlands and out over the North Sea. Vogelzar landed aboard a light cruiser of the German Imperial Navy. Part of the northbound German fleet, it was already steaming out to sea near the coast of Jutland, the largest province in Denmark. Clovis and Homer landed on the rear deck of the ship where they waited and watched. The stern moved up and down in the high seas, tossing, pitching. Homer became seasick.

  “I don’t like this, Clovis. Let’s get out of here!”

  “Not yet, Homer, wait!”

  A portable pigeon pen in the middle of the deck was just a short distance away. It was partially draped at the top. Clovis carefully moved in closer to investigate, and hid behind the tarp.

  “Lookout!” shrieked Homer. But, it was too late.

  Thinking the bird had escaped from the cage, a seaman grabbed a fishing net and captured Clovis.

  “Taube! kommher zu mir!” (Dove, come here)