The French army had offered the British army several carrier pigeons for use in the field with the onset of the war. However, the British army preferred to rely on modern technology. There would be many reports of interception by the enemy with the use of telegraph and wireless transmitters. Telephone equipment proved too heavy to carry through the muddy terrain. By the Spring of 1915, the British Royal Engineers Signal Service supplied their units with truck lofts of carrier pigeons. When all else failed, pigeon post would become indispensable.
One day, Homer alerted Clovis that he saw an allied carrier pigeon go down on the battlefield. They flew to the rescue. The carrier was spinning on the ground, sort of disoriented. There was blood on her neck.
“Are you okay?” asked Homer.
The carrier rose to her feet.
“I’m okay, the missile just grazed me.”
“What’s your name?” asked Clovis.
“BEF206,” she replied as she proudly raised her left wing to show off the tiny numbers embedded into her feathers. “You can call me Somerset.”
“Where are you going?” they inquired.
“Field headquarters,” she replied. “Who are you?”
Clovis and Homer identified themselves as birds living in the wild who saw her go down.
“Thanks for coming to my rescue, but if I don’t get back to work, they will send another carrier.”
“Good luck, Somerset!”
They watched until she disappeared over the tree line.
“It’s good to see an allied carrier for a change.” said Clovis.
Because of previous breakdown in communication, the central powers began to employ other means of delivering messages, which included motor bikes. Eventually, they proved unsuccessful, not only because of the bumpy terrain, but there were reports that wild birds had been seen pecking at the riders’ helmets, causing vehicles to overturn. For Clovis and Homer, it was business as usual.
One afternoon, they were returning to the sidelines when they spotted a bird lying in the mud on the forest floor. Taking a closer look, they couldn’t identify any characteristics except a wing with the bloody numbers BEF206. It was evident that Somerset had been attacked and pecked to death. Homer became angry.
“What a horrible way to die, Clovis.”
“Plain murder.”
“They didn’t have to kill her.”
They dug a small hole to place her remains.
“If we had known she was in danger, we would have guarded her.” lamented Clovis. “From now on, it will be our duty to protect all allied carrier pigeons so that they can safely deliver their messages.”
Homer agreed. The death of Somerset came as a warning to Clovis and Homer, because it was a direct consequence of their ongoing exploits which ultimately had mobilized a war among the birds.
The next day, another allied carrier pigeon was liberated. As he flew over the deep woods toward allied headquarters, the patriots secretly followed him to insure his safety. As the allied carrier flew out into the open sky, two enemy carrier pigeons leaped out of the forest on his trail.
“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?”
“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.”