Germany’s second and third armies advanced south across the Sambre-Meuse Valley toward France. Located near the border of Germany, Liege was the first Belgian stronghold to fall to the central powers, which was still under siege.
The mighty resistance of the Belgian army, under the command of King Albert I, had severely delayed the time frame of Germany’s invasion across the border into Liege. A German howitzer had battered the impenetrable steel fort at Liege into surrender. Because the Belgian army did not have the manpower or weapons to continue their fight against the heavy gun artillery of Germany and Austro-Hungary, King Albert led his defeated army north to Antwerp. Subsequently, Belgium headquarters would be located on the west coast.
The loud bombardment had decreased. After spending many days in the bleak landscape of the Botrange Mountains, Clovis and Homer followed the subtle sounds of gunfire to the nearby town of Liege. Hiding on the roadside inside patches of undergrowth, they watched motionless as hundreds of German soldiers marched by in unison from the east. Carrying mouser rifles over their shoulders, they wore leather helmets with distinctive brass spikes, similar to those they had witnessed in the valley.
“Where are they going in such a hurry?” whispered Homer.
“Don’t know, looks like they’re taking over the town.”
Clovis and Homer stood in awe as they remained hidden in the shadow of the oncoming giant cannon known as Big Bertha. The convoy continued as regiments commandeered the howitzer on a slow moving motor plough, digging its loud clanging steel mat wheels into the road.
Behind the cannon, another line of trucks appeared. The convoy halted as troops temporarily abandoned their vehicles to pursue fleeing refugees.
Bird coos came from a nearby truck. Clovis and Homer investigated. Partially covered with a tarpaulin, they leaped up on the tailgate. More ‘coor-rr’ sounds lured them further inside the truck. Clovis carefully approached a caged feral pigeon.
“Have you been captured too?” he asked in a naïve tone.
“No, stupid! These are our military bird quarters.” He shouted with spittle dripping from his wide beak.
Clovis stepped back and ruffled his dampened feathers. “What do birds do in the army?” asked Clovis inquisitively.
The feral pigeon was proud of his background.
“We have been trained to deliver messages of high importance between field camps,” he claimed while standing at attention.
Suddenly their conversation was interrupted by the rattle of a chain. Clovis and Homer looked up at the largest pigeon they had ever seen. His thick plumage of long blue-black feathers fluttered with anger as he clinched the perch with his hawk-like talons. His piercing eyes glowed in the dark, as he silently opened and closed his large beak to demonstrate his agitation at the site of unknown visitors. A red scarf draped his wide neck as a clear mark of distinction. Clovis broke the silence.
“Who are you?”
“Kommandant Vogelzar, ruler of the bird empire! What are you doing here?”
“Belgium is our country,” replied Clovis with innocent pride.
“Not for long because the central powers will soon be the super power of Europe!” he said with an intimidating laugh.
Clovis believed that could never happen. “That’s not true!”
“I will not allow a wimpy dove to call me a liar. Rausmit! (Get out of here), and take that prairie chicken with you.”
Homer became insulted and stepped out from behind Clovis. “I’m not a chicken, I’m a grouse!”
Vogelzar lunged at Homer, exhibiting his huge wing span, and tried to reach him with his sharp talons. Homer was saved by the short length of the bird’s chain. He became so frightened that he stumbled up over the tailgate and escaped into the air, with Clovis not far behind. They did not land until they were on the west side of the Meuse River. Homer was hysterical.
“That’s the biggest hawk I have ever seen!”
“He’s just a big overgrown pigeon, Homer.”
“Uh uhh, only Smokejack had talons like that!” The little combs over his eyes quivered.
“Come on, Homer, old bird Woodpigeon was larger than him, and besides, I’ll bet you and me together could overpower him.”
“I’m bigger than you, and I wouldn’t dare!”
“That Vogelzar is not going to rule our bird kingdom!” insisted Clovis.
“Kommandant Vogelzar, remember?”
“Would you would like to go back up to that spooky mountain full of crawling trees with twisted limbs, where it rains nearly every day?”
“No, Clovis, I can’t eat any more wet seeds.”
And so the two fledglings continued to argue about what course to follow: one was characterized by fear, and the other motivated by strength and determination. That combination would form an alliance that would unite two powerful forces which would enhance their efforts to change the course of the war.
Clovis convinced the reluctant Homer to join him, and they embarked on a northern course to explore the region of Wallonia. With cannon explosions clearing the way, the central powers continued their swift march across Belgium. Abandoned farms with green landscapes were quickly becoming muddy fields. Continuing their journey high above the smoke-filled countryside, they proceeded directly to Brussels, and perched on the ledge of the Town Hall building overlooking Grand Square. The last civilian refugees were leaving Brussels away from the advancing enemy in a line that stretched for miles outside the city.
“I don’t like it, I just don’t like it!” gasped Homer as he listened to the distant bombardment of heavy gun artillery coming from the east. “They just keep coming and coming,” added Homer as he marched back and forth, mimicking the German soldiers marching in Liege.
Before leaving Brussels, they decided to browse in a nearby treed area. It was not long before they became distracted by heavy sounds of bird coos and chirping among the trees. Soon, a friendly pigeon greeted them on the ground.
“No,” replied Clovis.
“We are gathering birds together that want to seek refuge in southern France.”
“We lost our family when our homeland was destroyed.”
“And we are all alone,” added Homer sheepishly.
“What’s your name?” asked Clovis.
“Fantail,” he replied before motioning for several other leaders to join them on the ground. Like his name, he possessed a fan-shaped tail with dark olive brown coloring. Formerly a trainer of racing pigeons, he had joined other leaders to help summon birds to safety.
“You are welcome to join us.”
“Why do we have to leave Belgium?” asked Clovis.
“Some of us are domestic birds who depend on townsfolk for food, but now it is not safe to live in the city anymore.”
“Yeah, signs are being put up forbidding townsfolk to feed birds,” said another leader.
“Next thing you know, we’ll be rounded up by the kiekefretters (chicken eaters),” remarked another.
Then, a feral pigeon known as the Tailbearer returned from the east where he had been sent to look for stranded birds.
“Where’s little Auk?” asked Fantail.
“On our journey, we got caught up in gunfire, and Little Auk disappeared in the smoke,” he answered.
Orphaned as a fledgling, Fantail had raised Little Auk and mourned his loss.
“My Little Auk, gone,” he lamented.
Clovis couldn’t suppress his silence any longer.
“We found out that the enemy uses pigeons to carry messages between their camps, don’t they Homer?”
Homer reluctantly nodded his head.
The Tailbearer reported directly to Fantail.
“What he says is true. There is even a written decree by the enemy with orders for troops to destroy all pigeons and doves that may render assistance to the allies.”
Clovis and Homer turned to one another, wondering if their homeland had been directly targeted by the enemy.
That comment, along with the distant sounds of artillery advancing toward Brussels, brought on louder chirping among hundreds of birds waiting in the trees to follow their leaders to safety.
“Let me speak,” directing his voice to Clovis and Homer. “My name is Count Van Coo from Romania, and it is not safe for me and my family to return home. If you are smart, you will follow us.”
Fantail looked down at the two fledglings. “Come with us, and we will take care of you.”
What a dream come true, thought Homer. Now they could escape all the danger and have a home once again. But, Clovis was not looking for refuge.
“We are going to stay!”
Homer cringed in silence, because he would not leave without his best friend.
“Very well,” replied Fantail, aware he could no long delay their departure.
The summoned flocks followed their leaders into the radiant sunset where blended shades of ocher dominated the sky to seek refuge in southern France, while Clovis and Homer remained behind and watched the last flock of wild birds leave Belgium.