by Martha Moore
“Help, help” added Homer while hiding his head beneath a clump of foliage.
As they drifted further away from home, Clovis took one last glimpse of Doveland before they reached the crest in the river. Flying missiles hissed and erupted in explosions that rocked the ground on both sides of the Semois River, uprooting trees and sending clumps of underbrush into the air. Clovis alerted Homer, and they leaped away from the river gauntlet, flying northeast toward the Botrange Mountains. Higher and higher they flew.
When The Great War began, the central powers consisted of Germany and Austro-Hungary. France, Great Britain, and Belgium were regarded as the allies.
Germany’s fourth army regiment roared their way across the Belgian frontier toward France. The invasion of Belgium would become, according to the central powers, ‘a race for the sea.’ (North Sea) The French armies were hardy and determined, and would become the major challenger in that endeavor.
The German invaders must have thought that their grand display of valor and firepower would invoke paralyzing fear and stifle any resistance on the part of France as they marched from the east.
Marching gallantly from the west, the French troops must have believed that the sun’s reflection on their long-spiked bayonets towering above their heads, would immediately halt further invasion. But their swords and guns would be no match for Germany’s heavy gun artillery.
Neither side would retreat. Known as the Battle of the Ardennes, the two armies collided in the middle of the rugged forest.
Finally reaching a safe destination, Clovis and Homer landed on a scarp overlooking the Valley of the Ardennes from the hilly plateau of Hautes Fagnes, the highest point in all of Belgium.
Wailings of prevailing doom permeated the air as the two homeless fledglings huddled together and watched the smoke spiral into the sky from their beloved homeland.
“Our families are gone now,” cried Clovis.
“And we don’t have a home anymore,” sobbed Homer.
Trapped by the ravages of war, Clovis and Homer would continue to dwell in the ancient moorland, nesting around windswept trees, and foraging in the pale grasses. Sounds of heavy gun artillery continued to echo throughout the valley. They did not know what to do or where to go.
CHAPTER 5
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 sold
iers 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.
“Are you here to join us?”
“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.
CHAPTER 6
While the British Expeditionary Forces were defending Belgium in Mons against Germany’s first and second armies, the French armies were defending France from Germany’s third and fourth armies. Nicknamed the Tommies by their homeland, the British Expeditionary Forces wore Brodie hats, and green khaki uniforms, whereas the French uniform consisted of a blue kepi, blue coat, and red trousers. Their red trousers would subsequently be replaced by a dark, less conspicuous color, and their cloth hats would be replaced with helmets.
It was late in the day, and sounds of heavy gun artillery and rattling of machine guns had already decreased on the battlefield. The naïve fledglings continued their flight into the woodlands to dwell on the sidelines of the allied troops, anxious to settle in their new homes, unaware of the magnitude of The Great War.
Homer piled leaves and other fallen tree debris loosely in a circle on the ground and carefully settled in. Clovis gathered small twigs, leaves, and moss, and constructed a strong nest on the branch above. Homer watched him fly back and forth into the woods, wondering why he was spending so much time on a silly nest. Soon, they rested for the night.
At the crack of dawn, heavy gun artillery commenced with ground-shaking tremors, as explosions erupted on the battleground. Homer’s nest collapsed beneath him, and he rolled over onto the ground. “Help, help!” he screeched.
Alarmed, Clovis flew down to rescue him. Although Homer had calmed down, he was not impressed with the loud sounds coming from the battlefield. “This is a war!” Clovis reminded him.
“I can’t hear you!”
“Follow me,” motioning to Homer.
They flew to a tree and watched the sun rise over the smoky battlefield. The British troops were engaged in heated warfare. Flying missiles bounced back and forth like speeding lights, with pieces of shrapnel bursting in the air short of impact. Adjusting to the loud sounds of artillery, and the groans of the fallen soldiers would not be an easy task for the birds to endure. At certain intervals, the medical teams on both sides were allowed to rescue their wounded soldiers. Medical trucks would then transport them to field hospitals.
Meanwhile, Clovis noticed a white carrier pigeon being released from behind the enemy’s line of fire.
“Look over there, let’s follow him.”
“Why? He is not on our side,” responded Homer
“That’s just it, Homer, he might be carrying one of those messages that the Spitter talked about, remember?”
“I just want to go home,” he whined.
“Rise above it, Homer! The peaceful life we once knew is over.”
“Okay, but we don’t know anything about the messages either.”
“I could never live in a cage, Homer.”
“I know.”
“But, maybe we can still help our country.”
They agreed that if they were going to survive the war, they would have to forget that fateful day when their homeland was destroyed. Clovis and Homer made an official pact that they would never mention Doveland again.
It was time to take action. Keeping out of sight, they flew quietly through the woods below the canopy until they caught up with the enemy carrier pigeon. Clovis and Homer attacked the carrier and forced him to the ground. Puzzled by the sudden attack, the enemy carrier became frightened. Homer held him down firmly.
“You are too slow, we will take over from here.”
Removing the canister was too difficult. Finally, Clovis released the clip with his beak and slowly pulled out the piece of paper while Homer distracted him.
“What’s your name?”
“Flying Cloud,” he answered reluctantly.
They released the carrier and shoved the piece of paper beneath the ground leaves while the carrier continued his journey across the Meuse River to enemy headquarters in Liege.
Clovis and Homer hid along the bank of the river and waited to see what would happen next. It wasn’t long before the enemy carrier flew back toward the enemy camp. They waited until Flying Cloud returned with yet another message, and they detained him once again.
“Now listen, boys, they told me at if I lost another one, they would shoot me,” he quivered.
“Then don’t return,” suggested Homer, as Clovis emptied the canister once again.
Once Flying Cloud was released, he ignored Homer’s warning and continued his journey over the river. Several moments later, they heard a single gunshot. Homer quickly absolved himself of any guilt.
“You heard me warn him, Clovis.”
Their role in the war would become unchanged as they vowed to help the allies win the w
ar.
Later in the day, they returned to the sidelines to find the allied troops had been forced to retreat further south into France. The British regulars were known for their marksmanship, but their skills were no match for the heavy gun artillery of the central powers.
Homer became disgruntled at having to build another nest.
“Now, I guess we can be called border birds!”
The next morning would mark a new post lookout next to the sidelines of the battlefield. They soon followed yet another enemy carrier. As the carrier flew over the forest, he paused briefly as if he were attempting to move the canister away from his feathers. Clovis and Homer perched nearby.
“Oh, no, it’s the Spitter!” whispered Clovis.
Soon they made their way and perched one on each side of the carrier. The Spitter grumbled, “I demand to know what is going on!”
“You seem to be having trouble with that canister, and we might be of some help,” said Clovis.
“As a high ranking army official of the central powers, I demand my release at once!” he said as the spittle reached Clovis.
Clovis then pretended to loosen the clamp as he pulled the paper out of the canister, letting it fall to the ground unnoticed, while Homer distracted him.
“Where are you going?”
The Spitter became suspicious.
“You two look familiar.”
“Don’t think so,” replied Clovis. “We’re too scared to leave the woods with all that gunfire.”
“You patriots are in a lot of trouble for detaining me,” he grimaced as he flew away.
“What’s a patriot?” asked Homer.
“Don’t know. We’re just defending our country.”
They flew to the nearest watering hole where Clovis flapped his wings to wash the spittle from his little feathers. Homer began to laugh.
“It’s not funny, Homer. I don’t like that bird!”
After another long day, the patriots traveled back to their lookout to find the troops had once again retreated. Smoldering tree stumps and abandoned field artillery lay on the battlefield. They entered the woods alongside the allied troops once again. Homer grumbled while putting together yet another nest.