Ahead, a group of humans had a zebra surrounded, trying to coax her toward a large wooden outhouse, but she was having none of it. She brayed and kicked out, narrowly missing the leg of one of the keepers, who cursed out loud. The zebra had gone to the zebra house in the hope that her foal might have returned there during the night, but it was clear that nothing was inside. The roof had collapsed, and the building had been blasted to bits.
“The foal is under the hippo!” one of the female keepers called out, running across the paddock toward them.
Francis smiled despite himself. Hippos were the stockiest, toughest beasts he had ever seen. Hiding beneath one would be a clever, if not slightly dangerous, move. The zebra calmed down upon hearing that her foal was safe and allowed herself to be led to the outhouse along with the other zebras.
The monkeys, despite their hill having been blown to smithereens, seemed the least affected by the night’s events. Francis watched them in awe, wishing he had their resilience. The smaller monkeys leaped and bounded over the rubble, whooping and sliding into the giant crater, enjoying the new configuration. The sight of their joy gave Francis a little hope that maybe, one day, he could feel that kind of happiness once again.
Jacky and Chiney stood atop a boulder and waved. Francis bobbed his head in reply, but he had no time to stay and chat. He had one final promise to keep. He flew over to the giant panda enclosure, relieved to see that it was still intact. Although Ming and Tang were no longer there, he would have been sad to have seen it destroyed.
He made his way to the back of the enclosure, where he found Jean, sobbing quietly to herself. Francis hopped onto a branch and cooed at her softly. Jean looked up, wiping the back of her hand across her face.
“Hello,” she whispered hoarsely, trying to give Francis a small smile but failing miserably. The sight of him seemed to set her off again, and she held her face in her hands, snuffling.
“It’s so awful,” she sobbed. “The zoo… it’s just…” She couldn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t need to. Francis understood.
“Jean?” a quiet voice called.
Jean wiped her tears away. “Here.”
Another zookeeper came into the enclosure. “Oh, Jean,” she cried, pulling Jean into a hug. “Are you all right? We were so worried about you when you and the others went missing last night. The boss was going out of his mind with worry.”
Jean gulped, then nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to worry you all. I just couldn’t leave the animals.”
“That was a brave thing you did,” the other zookeeper said. “Reckless, but brave. Whatever gave you the idea to take them to the tunnel?”
Jean gave Francis a small smile. “A little bird told me.”
The zookeeper frowned, then pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “A telegram arrived for the boss from Whipsnade. Have you seen him?”
“No,” Jean sniffled. “I can give it to him, though.”
“I think you’d better. He needs to know you’re safe.”
The zookeeper handed Jean the telegram, then gave her one last hug before leaving Jean and Francis alone.
She unfolded the paper and read it, her face turning white.
She gasped and stared at Francis. “Whipsnade!” she cried. “It was hit by a bomb last night!”
Francis felt the ground move beneath him. Ming. Tang. He should have gone to Whipsnade first. He should have warned them, too!
Jean wailed and began crying even harder. Francis wanted to stay and comfort her, but he couldn’t. He set off at once, soaring over London. Below him, in the early morning light, fires continued to rage on. The humans were still fighting them, despite the devastation. Entire buildings that had once stood tall and proud were now nothing put piles of blackened rubble and ash. The humans searched through the remains of their homes, their lives.
But the Nazis hadn’t succeeded in destroying one thing that still rose proudly in the center of London: Despite being surrounded by fires, Saint Paul’s Cathedral was miraculously untouched. It was a symbol that no matter how hard the enemy tried to defeat London, Britain remained strong. Its great dome shone in the sunlight like a beacon of hope, and Francis flew faster, spurred on by the thought that if such a building could make it through the blitz untouched, then perhaps his friends could, too.
September 27, 1940
“Where are you going?” Tang demanded as Ming set off down the hill in the direction of the hideous glowing light in the distance. Dark black clouds gathered overhead ominously.
“Home!” Ming replied breathlessly. “I need to know if our friends are all right. If Jean and Jacky and Chiney and all the others…” She paused. She couldn’t say any more. She wouldn’t. She wasn’t going to let herself even consider the possibility that those she loved might be injured or worse. At least Francis was safe at Bletchley.
She reached the bottom of the hill and half ran, half stumbled into the woods, crashing through the trees like a lumbering elephant, and just as noisy.
“Come back!” Tang called, struggling to keep up.
Ming was amazed how fast she could actually move when she set her mind to it.
“You don’t have to come with me,” she called back. “Stay with Sung.”
She heard Tang pause, and for a moment her heart squeezed inside her chest. She wanted to do this. She was going to do this. But having Tang by her side would have made it a little less scary.
Tang appeared beside her. “Do you even know where you’re going?”
Ming gave him a grateful smile. “Toward the glow,” she said. “To London.”
Tang stared at her as though it was taking every ounce of his energy not to argue, but to Ming’s surprise, he kept his mouth shut. They continued on in silence. The woods were full of creeping shadows and creaking sounds, and Ming tried not to think of what might be watching them. Instead, she imagined she was back at home in China, wandering through the bamboo forests, when everything was safe and she had no worries. And no friends, she thought suddenly.
She hadn’t had any friends until Francis and Tang and Sung and the monkeys.
She hurried on, determined to return to her friends. It might well take her days… weeks even, but she would make sure they were all right and find Francis. Then she would go back to her enclosure with Tang and Jean and never let anyone take them away from her ever again.
The trees grew thicker and closer together. Their twisting trunks and branches blocked the way. Ming turned back, frustrated, and Tang followed silently, until after the fifth time they’d turned to go in the opposite direction.
“We are lost!” he cried, throwing his paws into the air. “I told you this was a bad idea, Ming. What is the plan? To wander aimlessly in the woods forever until we die or get eaten?”
He shuddered as a wolf howled not too far off in the distance.
Ming tried to remain calm. “We will find the way,” she said. “Giant pandas live in the forest. We must have some natural instincts to ensure that we won’t get lost.”
“Ming!” Tang huffed. “We are not the same as wild giant pandas anymore. We grew up in a zoo in Britain, not in the wilds of China, and we are not Francis, either. We don’t have a natural homing instinct that is miraculously going to kick in.”
At the mention of Francis’s name, Ming felt her resolve and any confidence she’d had in herself dissipate. “I have to do something, Tang!” she cried. “Francis said that to overcome fear, you have to do what scares you. You have to do what’s right. What your heart tells you to do.”
All her courage suddenly left her as all the terrible things that had happened hit her all at once. She sat down, defeated. “I want to go home,” she said in a small voice.
Tang sat beside her. “Me too,” he said. “But this is not the way. We’ll never make it to London, no matter how determined you are.”
There was another howl, and Ming froze. Her fur rose as she sensed a new creature close by. A predator.<
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“Tang,” she started, but he shushed her.
He stood and moved in a slow circle around Ming, protecting her within it, peering through the trees for any signs of life.
“What is it?” Ming squeaked, trembling.
Tang backed up suddenly, and Ming stood beside him, coming face-to-face with a very large gray wolf. She turned to flee, but two more wolves joined the first, then another and another until the pandas were surrounded.
“Tang!” Ming squeaked again. “What are the wolves doing out here?”
“They must have escaped their enclosure,” he hissed. “Try to stay calm.”
The wolves continued to glare silently. This was their natural territory, and Ming and Tang were intruders.
Something fluttered above, and Ming broke eye contact with the wolf, glancing up. She didn’t know what had made her do it, especially considering the situation she was in, but it was as though she was meant to see what was above. Suddenly, she didn’t care that she was lost in the woods surrounded by a pack of fierce wolves who were probably half-starved. All she cared about was that she could see him.
“Francis!” she cried as he flew overhead. Somehow, impossibly, he was there. “I’m here! Francis!”
But Francis hadn’t heard her. Hadn’t seen her. He seemed so intent on his destination that his eyes were set straight ahead.
“Francis!” Tang joined in with Ming’s desperate calls.
Ming looked to the wolves, who watched curiously. “Please, help us!” she begged. “That’s our friend. He needs to know that we are safe.”
The wolf at the front of the pack nodded almost imperceptibly. Then he raced after Francis with the pack chasing behind, moving swiftly but silently through the trees. Ming and Tang followed as fast as they could until they reached a small clearing. The wolves made a circle then, as one, lifted their heads to the sky and howled, so loud and for so long that Ming thought they must have been heard all the way to London and back again.
September 27, 1940
Francis had never flown so fast in his life. His wings seemed to have taken on a life of their own, as if they knew what he had to do and were making up for all the times they had failed him in the past. Francis’s mind was empty but for one thought: Find Ming and Tang.
Nothing else mattered now. The war, the National Pigeon Service, Bletchley. All that mattered was making sure that Ming and Tang were safe.
Heavy clouds rolled in, darkening the sky as he soared over undulating hills and fields and vast woodland stretching for miles. He flew on, swooping low above the canopy of trees, oaks and birch and chestnut, until Whipsnade came into view atop a tall hill.
He was almost there when a long, painful cry called to him from below.
Wolves.
He flew on, slightly shaken by the unusual sound, when it came again, louder this time, and beneath it, something else—a whisper on the wind that almost sounded like someone calling his name.
Ming!
Francis turned, following the wolves’ siren call. He had no idea why or how Ming had found herself in the woods, but he knew she was there, as surely as he knew his own name.
He swooped down to land, faltering when he saw the circle of wolves. They turned to look at him as one, then backed away, vanishing into the trees in the blink of an eye, leaving two giant pandas standing alone in the middle of the forest, looking impossibly out of place.
“Francis!” Ming shouted, lumbering over to him.
Tang gave Francis a wide smile, looking almost as pleased to see him as Ming was.
“Thank heaven!” Tang breathed. “Finally! Someone who can help us find the way home.”
Francis smiled at him, then turned to Ming, his chest feeling a little less tight, his heart feeling a little less lost.
“You’re alive!” he whispered.
Ming nodded, unable to speak. Then she grabbed him in a tight hug, until Tang had to remind her that pigeons were delicate creatures and she was likely crushing him to death.
Francis nodded to Tang gratefully when Ming finally released him.
“The zoo,” Ming said quietly. “What happened?”
“The Luftwaffe came, as the message said they would,” Francis told them. “I left Bletchley as soon as I heard. I tried to warn as many animals as I could, but…” He trailed off. “The zoo was badly hit; my friend, Paddy… didn’t make it.”
Ming’s eyes sparkled with tears.
“Jean?” Tang asked. “And the monkeys?”
“They are all right,” Francis said, relieved he had some good news to tell them. “But the war is far from over,” he warned. “The Nazis will return. They will send more planes and more fighters. But we will continue to fight back until we win this war.”
“Does that mean you are going back to Bletchley?” Ming asked.
Francis lowered his head. “I have to,” he said. “At least until the war is over.”
“I understand,” Ming replied. “I’m very proud of you, Francis.”
Tang cleared his throat beside them. “Perhaps, before Francis sets off on another important mission, he could show us the way back to the zoo? As helpful as those wolves were, I’m not sure I particularly want to see them again.”
May 8, 1945
Ming and Tang lay out in the midafternoon sun, enjoying the attention from the crowds. “Look, there’s another one!” Tang called out as he spotted a small boy clutching one of the zoo’s newest additions to the gift shop—a Tang toy.
“That’s the seventh one I’ve seen today,” he boasted. “I think they are becoming more popular than the Mings.”
Ming smiled, letting him savor the moment. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that the Tang toys were exactly the same as the Mings apart from the fact that they were labeled differently.
The crowd was one of the biggest that Ming had ever seen. Most children had come home to London, and many men—those who could—had also returned. A buzz of excitement and anticipation filled the air, as though everyone was waiting for something to happen. Ming wasn’t sure what it was, but she found that she was actually enjoying the attention for once.
“Shall we try out our new trick?” she asked Tang.
The monkeys had been teaching them ways to improve their performance. The pandas had failed terribly at leaping, and after Ming landed on her head attempting a somersault, she had decided against trying out any more acrobatics. Eventually, though, the monkeys had found something that the giant pandas were actually capable of.
“I will if you will,” Tang said with a grin.
They walked up onto their platform and stood in the center, waiting for the crowd to hush. Then they each turned to face the walkway back down and leaned forward, rolling headfirst to the ground.
Ming landed on the ground in a heap, but it didn’t matter—the crowd went wild, clapping and hooting and chanting their names.
“Maybe we could try it backward next time?” Tang suggested.
Jean came running out from the back of the enclosure, holding up her small wireless radio. She shouted at the crowd to be quiet, and a hush descended as a small, tinny voice came over the speaker.
It was the prime minister, Winston Churchill. Ming couldn’t catch all of what he was saying because the sound was fuzzy and the crowd kept murmuring anxiously. But he spoke of the resilience of the people and never giving up.
There was more after that, but Ming could hear no more as the entire zoo erupted in cheers and chants. Men and women hugged, pulling their children tightly to them as tears streamed down their faces, and all across London shouts of Victory! and War is over! could be heard.
Ming looked at Tang, her eyes shining and her heart full of a strange mixture of joy and sadness that she’d never known before “It’s over, Tang!” she cried. “It’s really over!”
Tang smiled at her and nudged his head against her shoulder affectionately. Ming paused for a moment, then grinned back, nudging him just a little bit harder than he
’d nudged her. Then she left the humans to their revelry, retiring once more to the shadows of her enclosure.
“Are you all right?” a voice said beside her.
“Francis!” Ming jumped up to greet her old friend. “It’s been so long! I was worried that…” She didn’t have to say any more; he knew what she meant.
“Why the sad face?” Francis asked her. “The war is over.”
Ming thought of the advice Francis had given her all those years ago, and she took a breath to chase away her fears and sadness.
“I’m glad,” she said. “Of course I am. But I can’t help thinking of all those lives that were lost. Humans and animals. So much of the world destroyed, so many lives to rebuild.” She took another breath as all the emotions—relief, joy, sadness, the fear that it might not be true, that the war wasn’t really over—welled up inside her, catching in her throat.
Francis bobbed his head in a nod. “Hopefully,” he said, “the world will have learned something from this tragedy. That is the one good thing that could come of it.”
“Jean!” the boss yelled.
Ming and Francis jumped, fear clutching Ming’s chest. He hauled the enclosure door open, searching for Jean, his gaze pausing as he saw Francis sitting in plain view. But instead of berating Francis or Jean, the boss simply smiled. “Even you can’t ruin this wondrous day for me, pigeon!” he boomed.
“Father!”
The boss turned and hugged his daughter, and Ming was surprised to see that he, too, had tears in his eyes.
Francis settled down beside Ming in his usual spot on top of the straw.
“Does this mean that you can stay for a while?” Ming asked.
“I’ve decided to retire from the National Pigeon Service,” he replied. “Let some other young pigeon have the adventures for a change.”
World War II Page 11