He took a deep breath. “I am a member of the National Pigeon Service. I work with the humans to deliver messages of the utmost importance to a code-breaking facility so that we can stay ahead of the enemy and defeat them. The message I need to deliver could change the entire outcome of the war in our favor.”
Jacky and Chiney stared at Francis, their mouths hanging open and their eyes wide, then they burst out laughing.
Francis waited impatiently until they had calmed down.
Jacky saw the look on his face and gave a nervous laugh, then shut his mouth. “Are you being serious?” he asked. “You want us to help you on a real mission?”
“We could be heroes!” Chiney gushed.
“Yes, well, I suppose you would be heroes in a way,” Francis said.
“Well, why didn’t you say that to begin with?” Jacky asked. “Count us in!”
September 11, 1940
Over the next few nights, more bombs came. The planes flew over as soon as the sun had set, their silhouettes creating monstrous shapes across the purple sky. The sounds of bombs and gunfire continued all night and into the morning, only disappearing when the sun rose.
Ming’s nerves were in tatters. There was no chance of getting any rest through the night, so she slept while she could during the day. Jean tried to prompt Ming and Tang to move out of the back of the enclosure and show themselves to the ever-dwindling crowds, but Ming just didn’t have it in her to come out of her hiding place, so eventually Jean let them be.
Francis had hidden his secret message capsule beneath the straw they slept on, and he sat upon it like a protective hen and her chick. Jean pretended that she didn’t know Francis was there, but she always left a handful of seeds along with the pandas’ bamboo.
The sound of heavy gunfire from the planes echoed around the zoo. Ming scooted closer to Francis, being mindful of his wing. Tang somehow slept through the whole thing. He had gotten used to it, he’d said in a bored voice, and wasn’t going to waste any more time worrying about whether he would live or die each night.
Francis peeped one eye open and glanced at Ming. “Can’t sleep?” he asked.
Ming shook her head, hiding her shaking paws in her lap.
“Was it true… what Tang said?” he asked. “That you didn’t really speak until you met me?”
Ming opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again with a sigh. It was so hard to explain. When the humans had brought her to a strange, new land, she had been so scared and bewildered that she had lost her voice. By the time Tang came along, she’d been so used to keeping quiet, she’d almost forgotten how to talk out loud.
But there was part of her that thought that maybe she didn’t want to talk. Or to connect with Tang. It felt easier that way. Because what happened if she started to talk about her family and her home and she could never stop? What if it brought all that pain back again? What if she began to care about Tang and he, too, was taken away from her? Instead, she buried it deep down inside where it couldn’t hurt her.
“I think I may have found a solution to my problem,” Francis said, seeming to sense Ming’s discomfort and changing the subject. He gestured at the red capsule. “I just need to check on a few things first.”
He stood stiffly and took off toward the bars. The farther he walked, the faster Ming’s heart raced. The noise of the planes in the sky and the flashes of explosions merged into a cacophony of chaos inside her head.
“Wait!” Ming called. “Will you stay, please?”
Francis paused, then came back to perch beside her as more planes flew overhead.
“Those are Spitfires,” Francis told her. “They belong to us, the British. You see the rings and circles on the side and beneath the wings?” Ming nodded. “That’s how you know they are friendly. Whenever you see them in the sky there’s no need to worry; they will soon chase the enemy away.”
“What about the enemy planes, though?” Ming asked, a quaver in her voice. “How do I spot those?”
“They have black-and-white crosses on them,” Francis said. “But the Spitfires will chase them away before they get too close.”
Ming sat in silence for a while, unconvinced.
“It’s all right to be afraid, you know,” he said. “I’ve recently spent time in the middle of a war zone, where the noise and the fighting and the…” He paused, lifting his wing at the sky. “It was much worse than this. The humans trained me to fly through the harshest weather, to cope with the loudest noises and the most terrible distractions, but it didn’t ever stop me from being afraid.”
“How did you get through it?” Ming asked.
Francis sighed. “At some point you have to decide what is more important: your fear or your mission. Don’t let fear stop you from doing what you want to do. What you need to do.”
Ming lifted the red capsule between her paws delicately, as though it was the most precious object in the world. Which to Francis, she supposed, it was. “This is really important to you, isn’t it?”
“This invasion is only the beginning,” Francis said. “The Nazis are testing our resolve. Trying to make us lose faith, using our fears against us. When they think there is no more fight left in us, they are planning to do something much worse.”
Ming’s stomach lurched. “What could be worse than this?” she whispered.
“That’s something I hope we will never have to find out,” Francis said.
“Where do you need to deliver your message to?” she asked.
Francis glanced around. “There is a special facility,” he whispered. “At Bletchley Park, outside of London. I was heading there when I was shot down. It is where I was born and trained to be part of the National Pigeon Service. I must get this message to the code breakers there to warn them about the enemy’s plans.”
Ming’s thoughts raced. Maybe it was because Francis understood the ways of the humans and their war, or maybe it was his bravery that comforted her, but she wanted him to stay with her. Still, she knew deep down that those thoughts were selfish. Francis’s mission was far greater than her needs. She took a deep breath and summoned the words she knew she had to say:
“You should go,” Ming said.
Francis gave her a puzzled look. “But my wing isn’t healed.”
She shook her head. “Not to Bletchley—you should go and find a way to deliver your message.”
“Are you sure?” Francis asked. “I’ll be as quick as I can. You’ll hardly miss me.”
“This war has brought nothing but misery,” Ming said. “Our food has been rationed and we get less and less each day. And it’s no better for the humans. They have to run and hide each time the sirens sound, and sometimes…” She paused. “Sometimes some of the zookeepers have gone away. But if there’s a way your message can stop some of this misery, then you must do what you can. There is no time to waste.”
September 13, 1940
Two days later, Francis was rudely awoken from his afternoon nap as the enclosure door clanged open. The plan had been put into action—the monkeys were going to find out where they could procure a map. They already knew how to get themselves in and out of their cage unnoticed. Despite his impatience, all Francis could do was wait.
He quickly buried himself beneath the straw as Jean appeared. She reminded Francis of George in many ways. He stayed as quiet as he could in case she wasn’t alone.
He was right to be cautious. The boss barged his way past Jean and began flinging up discarded bamboo and straw, searching feverishly for something. Francis had more than a sneaking suspicion that that something was a pigeon. He peered out through the straw. The man seemed almost desperate. What if he is a spy? Francis thought suddenly. Maybe he had been sent by the Nazis to retrieve the capsule! Francis checked that the capsule was well hidden but, to his horror, found that it was gone.
“He’s not here!” Jean protested, glancing nervously at the giant pandas. “I released him in the park, just like you told me to.”
The boss ignored her and crawled beneath the wooden platform. “There have been reports of a pigeon with a bandaged wing strutting around the zoo, distracting the visitors,” the man’s voice echoed.
Francis frantically hunted through the straw and dirt for the capsule. It had been there only moments ago. Where could it have possibly gone?
“What’s the matter?” Ming mumbled, her eyes never leaving the crazed man.
“The capsule!” Francis hissed. “It’s gone.”
Ming’s eyes widened and she swept her paws back and forth through the straw around her, searching for the capsule.
“Psst!”
Tang gestured to his paw. He checked that the boss was still beneath the platform, then slowly opened his paw slightly, revealing a glimpse of red.
The capsule.
“Tang!” Ming chided.
Francis breathed in relief, ducking behind Ming just as the boss emerged from the platform, bottom first. He stood and brushed down his trousers, then ran his fingers through his thinning hair, covering himself in a sticky, brown substance.
Francis tried not to laugh as he realized what was streaked through the man’s hair, while Ming began shaking.
“Are you all right?” Francis whispered.
Tang was doing the same thing, and Francis realized that they were laughing. Ming couldn’t control herself any longer—a loud hooting roar burst from her mouth. She fell sideways, laughing and clutching at her stomach.
Francis couldn’t help but smile. Until he noticed Jean staring at him, her face white. And she wasn’t the only one who could see him. The boss watched him, too. Except his expression was not one of horror, like Jean’s. It was one of pure triumph.
“I knew it!” the man snapped, jolting Ming and Tang from their hysterics.
“H-he must have found his way back,” Jean stuttered. “I didn’t know he was here, sir. I can’t control what a pigeon does.”
The boss made a noise that sounded like a low growl. Francis felt a twist in his gut. He strode toward Francis, reaching him in a few long steps. Francis backed up, but his tail feathers hit the wall. He was cornered.
“Please, sir,” Jean begged. “I’ll take him farther away this time so that he can’t return.”
She put her hand on his arm, but he shook her off, focused only on Francis.
The two looked at each other for a moment, the man’s eyes full of inexplicable hatred, and Francis’s full of fear. At least the message was safe, he thought. Maybe, if he made it out of this, he could return later to retrieve it.
Francis closed his eyes as the man moved toward him, when suddenly a growl issued from behind him. Francis opened his eyes again. Ming and Tang stood on either side of the boss, their stares intense, warning the man to not move any closer.
“Stay away from our friend,” Tang growled.
“I think the pandas quite like the pigeon,” Jean said quietly.
“Make them back away!” the boss ordered.
Jean shook her head. “I can’t, sir. They are not performing monkeys.”
The man scowled and tried to grab Francis, but Ming and Tang growled again. The noise sent a shiver of fear through Francis, even though he knew they would never hurt him.
“Giant pandas can become very protective of their young,” Jean continued. “Perhaps they see this pigeon as one of their own. It wouldn’t be wise to upset them.”
“They belong to me,” the boss retorted. “And they will do what I tell them to do. Stand down!” he shouted at the pandas.
But the pandas didn’t stand down. They moved in, backing the man into a corner, just as he’d done to Francis. Filthy trails of sweat slid down the man’s face, leaving behind streaks of brown from the dung in his hair. He stomped his feet in frustration.
A siren pierced the silence, and Francis almost jumped out of his skin.
“Air raid!” the man shouted, seizing his chance to make a hasty escape. “Quickly, Jean!”
Jean smiled briefly at Francis before leaving, slamming the door shut behind her with an echoing clang.
“That was close,” Francis breathed. “He must have been after the capsule. Enemy spies are everywhere. Thank goodness you hid it, Tang.”
Tang smiled proudly.
“What are we going to do now?” Ming asked. “He’s sure to come back for you.”
Francis sighed. “I’ll have to move up my plans to ensure that he can’t get his hands on the message.”
“But what about you?” Tang asked.
Francis raised his bandaged wing. “I can’t get very far. We will have to remain extra vigilant so that dreadful man doesn’t find me again.”
He looked at their worried faces. “It’s all right,” he told them. “Every pigeon in the service knows that when they are sent out on a mission, there is a high chance that they won’t make it back alive. But that’s a risk I am prepared to take for my country.”
He squinted at a sliver of light coming from behind Ming. He hopped closer to the door. It was slightly ajar. In her haste, Jean must have forgotten to lock the door.
Francis turned back to Ming. “How would you like to help me?” he asked.
Ming gave him a quizzical look, and Francis gestured his good wing at the open door. “Come and meet some very clever friends of mine.”
“You can’t!” Tang chided as Ming moved forward. “You’ll be caught in an instant, and we’ll both be punished. Besides, there’s an air raid going on, remember?”
Francis looked up to the sky. The sirens were still blaring but there weren’t any planes in the sky yet, and the few rounds of gunfire that he could hear sounded miles away.
“You’ll be safe with me,” Francis told Ming.
“Go out there?” Ming squeaked. “Without a human?”
“What do you need a human for?” Francis asked. “You are your own animal with your own head and your own heart. How often do you get a chance to be free?”
“Tang?” Ming asked. “Are you coming?”
Tang hesitated. “I’ll stay here. In case the boss comes back. But don’t be too long.”
Ming took a deep breath and smiled a real smile for the first time since Francis had arrived. “All right,” she said. “I’ll do it.”
September 13, 1940
Ming couldn’t believe that she was walking around the zoo in broad daylight, with not a human in sight. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. The most daring thing she’d ever done in her life up until now was talking to Francis when he’d landed in her enclosure. But despite the fear squirming in her belly, she was going to do what she wanted for once.
When she was a cub, she’d sometimes been allowed to wander free—supervised by a human, of course—while children and adults alike gathered around her, oohing and aahing at her precocious clumsiness.
A little way ahead, a pair of llamas lazily munched on a patch of grass beside a large pavilion. Both llamas had thick, curly fur, one white and one light brown. Their backs were laden with sacks and blankets as though they were about to go off on a mountain expedition.
“What are you two doing?” Ming asked the llamas, who had paused to watch the unusual sight of a panda and pigeon.
“We could ask you the same thing,” the white llama replied.
“We’re on an adventure, aren’t we, Ming?”
The idea was so absurd that Ming could only grin in reply.
“Lucky for some,” the other llama replied dryly. “We were taking supplies to the giraffes’ enclosure when the sirens started. The humans didn’t even give us a backward glance as they ran for shelter. We thought we’d make the most of our free time until they put us back to work again.”
“They are making you work?” Ming asked incredulously. “But why?”
The light brown llama sniffed, then nodded to a building behind them where a motor vehicle was parked. “They can’t use their machines anymore,” he said. “Not since the war started. The fuel they need is rationed, and it only la
sts a short while before it runs out.”
“So they have to use us instead,” said the white llama.
“That seems a bit unfair,” Francis said.
“It’s not so bad. It gets us out of our paddock and we get to visit our friends around the zoo. Besides, we’re not the only ones. The camels have been carrying the bigger sacks of food around the zoo. Even the Shetland ponies carry fodder on smaller journeys. It’s a war. Everyone has to do their part so that we all survive.”
“Very true,” Francis said sternly. “I applaud your work ethic. I myself have a very important mission to undertake to ensure the safety of our great country.”
The white llama snorted, sending a spray of spittle into Ming’s face. She grimaced and wiped it away with a paw.
“You?” he guffawed. “What can a pigeon do for the war effort?”
Francis’s feathers ruffled indignantly.
“Let’s have a look over here,” Ming interjected, nudging Francis with her nose. “I’ve always wanted to see the polar bears. Tang thinks that they are just like us, minus a color.”
Francis stalked off in the direction of the polar bears. Theirs was a large, open enclosure with rocky terraces built within. A low wall studded with jagged rock sat at the front to keep the humans out and the polar bears in. But there were no polar bears to be seen.
“Where are they?” Ming wondered out loud.
“Maybe they were evacuated to Whipsnade?” Francis suggested.
Ming frowned. “Maybe, but I didn’t see them when we were there,” she said. She wandered around to the side of the enclosure. “Can you hear that?”
It was very faint, but she thought she heard a keening sound, a bit like the noise Tang sometimes made in his sleep when he was having a bad dream. Francis hopped ahead.
“It looks like some kind of tunnel,” he said. There was a large reinforced metal door covering the entranceway, and as Ming placed her ear against it she could clearly hear the sounds of large animals inside.
World War II Page 4