World War II

by Katrina Charman

  “You too, Tang,” Jean encouraged, giving him a gentle push on his behind. “Don’t let Ming steal the limelight.”

  Tang huffed and followed after Ming to excited gasps from the crowd.

  “Would you look at that,” a man said, pushing a little redheaded girl forward to stand right at the front. He wore a shabby gray cap, and Ming noticed that the right sleeve of his jacket hung empty, his arm most likely lost due to a war injury.

  The little girl waved at Ming, then held up a small stuffed toy panda.

  “Look, Ming,” she said, bobbing the stuffed panda up and down. “It’s you!” The girl held the toy up to the bars and laughed. “Ming, meet Ming!”

  Ming eyed the stuffed toy panda suspiciously. It looked nothing like her—more like a deformed badger than a panda—but the toys made Tang jealous, so Ming always made a point of showing off to the crowd whenever she spotted one. Or at least she did the best she could do at showing off, which was mainly sitting and eating her bamboo closer to the humans.

  Beside her, Tang huffed again and Ming smiled a little, despite there being so many eyes watching her.

  “Don’t just sit there and stare at them,” Tang said. “They are here for a show. That’s why they brought us back from Whipsnade Zoo after being evacuated—to bring back the crowds. Watch this…” Tang lay on the floor, then rolled over onto his back. The little girl clapped her hands, and Tang gave Ming a triumphant look.

  Rolling is not much of a skill, Ming thought. She turned her back on the crowd and headed back to Jean. Ming wished she were still at Whipsnade. She had liked it there. It was quiet and peaceful, with no crowds, and she hadn’t felt as though she were on display all day long.

  Ming watched Jean sweep the floor as Tang did another roll, almost knocking her over.

  “It looks like Tang is having fun,” Jean teased, leaning on her broom. “Why don’t you join him?”

  Ming sniffed, then picked up a bamboo shoot and slowly chewed at the end to show Jean what she thought about her suggestion.

  “You might enjoy it if you give it a go,” Jean said. She shook her head and continued sweeping, a small smile on her face.

  The smile quickly dropped as a screaming sound filled the air.

  Sirens.

  Ming’s heart beat out of her chest as the humans scattered in all directions. In the panic, the little girl dropped her stuffed Ming toy.

  “Daddy!” she screamed at her father. “My Ming!”

  He ignored her pleas and pulled a heavy black gas mask with big goggled eyes down over her face, then carried her away to the closest air-raid shelter, her cries muffled beneath the mask.

  “Inside!” Jean shouted at Ming and Tang, herding them beneath the covered part of the enclosure. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  She raced out of the enclosure, slamming the door shut.

  Ming glanced at Tang. His eyes matched her own—wide and afraid as the sirens wailed on, warning that something bad was approaching.

  “It will be all right,” Tang whispered over and over again. “We’ll be all right. Everything will be all right.”

  Tang’s fear hung in the air between them like a smothering cloud. Ming’s fur was on edge, hackles raised. Her heart raced, and all the while chaos filled the zoo. Worse, even, than the sounds of the sirens were the sounds that filled her head. The screaming monkeys and braying zebras. The birds in the aviaries, squawking and flying at the wire mesh again and again, trying to break free.

  Ming squeezed her eyes shut, and a memory flashed before her. Her mother calling out for her as the humans came with nets and cages. While other animals ran away and the men gave chase, Ming could do nothing but sit, frozen, even though her mother urged her to run and hide. She couldn’t. She couldn’t leave her only family. So she sat and watched until the men took her, too.

  She forced down a sob and moved closer to Tang, covering her ears with her paws to block out the terrible sound, but she could still feel the vibrations of the noise. A couple of zookeepers ran past, making sure that all the humans had left, and Ming was dismayed to see Jean with them.

  “She should be in the shelter!” Tang cried, echoing Ming’s own fears.

  Ming watched Jean, Ming’s entire body clutched by terror, until she saw her keeper head off in the direction of the offices where the humans sheltered in the basement.

  But for the animals, for Ming and Tang and all the others, there was nowhere to run to. Nowhere to hide. There was nothing to do but sit and await their fate. Just like she had done in China.

  She shuffled herself farther into the corner of the enclosure, trying to make her huge body as small as possible, waiting for the raid to pass. Sometimes it was a false alarm, and the humans returned almost as quickly as they had left. But other times… other times it continued on into the night, while the animals sat in the absolute darkness, watching, and waiting, and hoping, that the flying beasts stayed away. That they wouldn’t drop their bombs. That they wouldn’t fall near the zoo.

  “M-Ming,” Tang stammered, “I’m afraid.”

  “Me too,” Ming whispered, too quietly for Tang to hear.

  Finally, as the sky darkened, the wailing sirens wound down. Ming craned her neck forward a little to look out to the sky above and see if it was clear. But no sooner had the sirens stopped when they started up again, and accompanying them, a new, even more terrifying noise. It began as a low hum, barely noticeable if you weren’t listening carefully. But then the sound grew, like a swarm of angry bees protecting their queen, rising into a crescendo until the mechanical motors were all you could hear.

  Nazi bombers.

  Ming caught sight of them in the distance. The planes flew in a V formation, like a flock of geese, gliding low over London, seeking out their targets. Gunfire echoed around the city, then thud, thud, thuds in quick succession as the bombs landed. There was a pause, no longer than an intake of breath, before snaking trails of black smoke rose high into the sky. The bombers had found their targets. Somewhere close, buildings were burning.

  Ming was breathing so hard she felt as though her chest would explode like one of those bombs.

  “Oh no,” Tang whispered beside her.

  She followed Tang’s gaze. The planes that had passed over them turned in the sky, still in formation.

  They were headed right for the zoo.

  September 7, 1940

  The south coast of England came into view as the sun began to set. Francis had flown all night and into the next day without stopping, and now his wings felt like they were made of rubber and his lungs were on fire. Still, he pushed himself on, focusing on the looming white cliffs of Dover running as far as he could see in either direction. Finally, he swooped up and over the cliff tops, then soared over a field as yellow as the sun itself.

  He landed among the mustard-yellow flowers of the rapeseed and allowed himself a moment to rest and get his bearings, snatching up an unsuspecting worm as it chose the wrong moment to poke its head up out of the soil. Francis preferred seed, which didn’t wriggle its way down his throat like the worm, but it had been so long since he’d eaten that he couldn’t afford to be fussy.

  The coastline was reinforced with defenses. Metal posts entwined with barbed wire and hidden mines jutted out of the sea along the beach to deter enemy ships attempting to reach land. Farther along where the beach became wider, huge concrete blocks had been placed so that enemy ships that did make it to shore would be unable to offload their tanks.

  Francis slowed, carefully scanning the land ahead in all directions, alert. There was a sudden release of gunfire, and Francis dropped just in time, narrowly avoiding being shot out of the sky. Luckily, this was what he had been anticipating, had been trained to do. He flew low, trying to identify where the gunfire had come from, then he saw it.

  A pillbox.

  A squat concrete building, with only the narrowest of windows. They were meant for the humans to fire machine guns through and shoot down anyt
hing that looked even slightly suspicious in the sea or sky. Although he was flying over his home territory, Francis was still keenly aware of the potential dangers.

  The British RAF Spitfires were easily recognizable with painted circles on their tails and beneath their wings. The Home Guard manning the defenses wouldn’t dare to shoot down one of their own, but pigeons like Francis had no markings. They all looked the same to the humans, and the gunmen below had no idea whether he was friend or foe. All they knew was that if there was the possibility that Francis might be carrying a message for the other side, especially if they spotted the bright red canister tied to his leg, they might chance it and shoot him down anyway.

  As Francis flew closer, the gunfire came again, but this time he was ready. He easily dodged the bullets, then moved into position so that he still had the pillbox in his sights, but the sniper within was no longer able to see him through his narrow window at the angle he was flying.

  Francis passed safely out of range, then let himself relax a little.

  He scanned the area one last time in case there were more hidden pillboxes. Then he flew on, ignoring the pain that screamed through his shoulders.

  He turned west for London, desperate for water and a chance to sleep, but he knew he didn’t have the time. He would sleep once he’d delivered the message. It was far more important than his own needs, and he refused to let George or his country down.

  As he continued his journey, the sun was disappearing on the horizon. In training, when Francis had flown to London before, he had seen the bright lights of the city from miles away. But this time, the city was in darkness, as though he were still flying over the ocean. Despite his excellent homing instincts, he faltered for a moment, reminding himself that it was only dark because of the blackouts. The humans kept all lights to an absolute minimum. Besides, he told himself, that was a good thing. He could fly undetected. And if a pigeon with his superior navigating skills was finding it difficult to locate London, then the Nazis would have an even harder task.

  Still, he couldn’t shake the growing unease bubbling up inside him as he flew on blindly. The Luftwaffe—the German air force—were notorious for night raids. That meant that the danger shifted from the ground to the sky, Francis’s territory. He would likely have to fly on through the night, pass over London, and then head north to Bletchley. He hoped that there were no air raids planned.

  He continued on, pushing his wings to their limit, knowing he had to keep going. Then he heard it, long before it came into view.

  A German Messerschmitt! The looming shadow of the fighter plane crept over him as it flew overhead. Francis’s heart raced faster as he somehow found a little more strength within to push even harder and stay steady on his course. There was nothing else he could do but fly on beneath the enemy planes. Francis thought of George and the lieutenant general and the soldier who had risked his life to get the message to them. He couldn’t let them down. He wouldn’t. Not when he had already come so far. Not when Bletchley was only a few hours away.

  It was an important place, where only the best code breakers worked night and day, decoding messages and data, helping the British forces and their allies stay one step ahead of the enemy. He had been born at Bletchley, like his mother and father and grandparents before him. Entire generations of pigeons bred to be more than just birds—to be heroes.

  In the distance, the silhouette of the dome of Saint Paul’s Cathedral rose into view, backed by a giant smear of oranges, pinks, and reds across the sky as the sun set behind it. Below, air-raid sirens wailed their warnings in unison across the city. The sight of it gave Francis renewed energy. He would not let the enemy win.

  Heavy black vapor streams filled the air as the planes dropped lower, making it even harder to see. Francis coughed, choking on fumes as the air filled with thick smoke. In his panic, he stopped flapping for a moment and his stomach dropped as he fell toward the ground. He forced his wings to move even though he couldn’t see where he was going and could barely catch his breath.

  He dove lower, hoping to come out of the smog, but as soon as the air cleared a little, he came face-to-face with a giant beast. He swerved, narrowly avoiding a collision with a bulbous barrage balloon. These large balloons were tethered all over the city to keep the enemy bombers high, to stop them from getting too close. They looked to Francis like a pod of whales bobbing in the air.

  He took a deep gulp of fresh air and reset his course, feeling his nerves settle a little.

  Then the shooting started.

  Ahead, a Messerschmitt plummeted suddenly. It veered to the left but caught its wing on one of the barrage balloon’s thick cables. Its entire left wing sheared off and the plane fell into a tailspin, exploding in a blast of blinding light and heat that erupted toward Francis.

  He swerved to avoid being caught in the blast, straining to fly higher and higher. But his wings finally gave up on him. He froze in midair for a split second before he began to fall.

  Down, down, down he went, as the world blurred around him in a whirl of fire and heat and noise.

  And then there was nothing, nothing but the darkness.

  September 7, 1940

  Bright light filled the sky, temporarily blinding Ming. Although the plane had gone down outside of Regent’s Park, Ming was sure she could feel the heat from the blast.

  “What happened?” Tang squeaked beside her.

  Ming shook her head, cautiously making her way out into the open to view the sky in all directions in case there were more planes coming. Aside from the blazing fire from the downed plane illuminating the darkness, she could see nothing.

  “Please let Jean be all right,” she whispered.

  “Are they gone?” Tang asked, huddling in the corner of the enclosure.

  Ming held her paw to her mouth to shush him, then listened. The noises from the zoo had settled slightly, but there was still the odd whimper or growl coming from the various enclosures. A faint buzzing sound came from the east. She turned in that direction and saw dark smudges in the sky, headed away from London. Whatever had caused the plane to crash must have scared the enemy away, Ming thought. They were safe… for now.

  She moved to join Tang, when something else caught her eye, falling with increasing speed directly above her, leaving a wispy trail of smoke in its wake. It was too small to be a bomb and didn’t come with the screaming noise of the incendiary bomb.

  As it came clearer into view, Ming saw that it was a bird. She stepped out of the way, narrowly avoiding being hit as it crashed to the ground inside the enclosure.

  Ming sat shocked for a moment, unable to move as she looked at the poor, broken thing that had almost killed her. It was in such a state that it was hard to tell what type of bird it might have been, but Ming guessed it was a pigeon. They were the most common birds found in Regent’s Park, which surrounded the zoo. It must have been caught in the gunfire.

  Ming took a breath to calm her racing heart and moved closer. “Oh no!” she whispered.

  The pigeon lay awkwardly on the ground, its left wing bent at an unnatural angle. Gray and white feathers were scattered all around the bird. Its head faced away from her, so she couldn’t see if its eyes were open or closed, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  “Leave it alone!” Tang called from behind her. “There’s nothing you can do for the wretched creature.”

  Ming looked back at Tang crinkling his nose in disgust. Then she turned toward the small, helpless bird who had been caught in the middle of the humans’ war. It was no different than she and all the other animals in the zoo. Ming felt a flash of anger inside her. At least the humans had places to hide, ways to stay safe and protect themselves. The animals had nothing. They were little more than sitting targets, surrounded only by hope and fear.

  The sky faded from black to an inky blue, then lilac as the sun rose, and Ming inched closer to the bird.

  The pigeon’s leg jolted suddenly, and Ming sprang back in surprise as it tr
ied to lift its head.

  “Stay still,” Ming said, barely more than a whisper, amazed that the pigeon was somehow still breathing.

  The pigeon groaned and lifted its head again, glancing down at its leg. “Message,” he croaked.

  Ming leaned in closer to try to understand what the pigeon was saying. Its eyes grew wide with terror as it saw her bearing down on him.

  “Don’t… eat… me!” he begged.

  Tang chuckled. “Why would she want to eat you?”

  The pigeon grew even more alarmed as Tang appeared beside Ming.

  “Bears!” the pigeon squawked.

  Tang tutted. “We are very rare and valuable giant pandas, not common bears!”

  Ming nodded at the pigeon, backing away slightly to give him some space and to reassure him that she wasn’t about to attack. “We are vegetarian,” she said quietly. “We don’t eat pigeons. Although… some giant pandas do eat meat, I suppose.” She saw the look of horror on the pigeon’s face and realized that she wasn’t doing a very good job reassuring him.

  She looked to Tang to say something helpful, but he was staring at her, his jaw hanging open in surprise.

  “Th-that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say in one go!” he stuttered. “All these years we’ve been living together, with only each other for company. And do I ever get a Good morning, Tang or How are you today, Tang? You barely even acknowledge Jean, and she’s the only friend you’ve got in this place!”

  Ming felt the blood drain from her face.

  Tang paused. “Ming… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  “I don’t need friends,” Ming hissed under her breath. “Least of all you.”