Doveland

by Martha Moore

  As time went by, Clovis continued to keep vigil, resting his head against the entry door each night. Dove Lillian knew little about the war. “When are you going to stop guarding the door every night, Clovis?”

  “When the war is over, Lille.”

  Soon, Clovis realized his dream of having a family. Two chicks arrived. Clovis named his son, BoCoo, and Dove Lillian named their daughter, Lilac, after the sweet smelling flowers that grew around their home. Two yellow fuzzy chicks nestled together begging for food. After feeding their young, Clovis and Dove Lillian took turns foraging for food in the distant woodlands.

  The chicks soon began bouncing around the nest, flexing their little wings. Soon, fuzz was replaced by feathers, much like their parents. When they were ready to fly, Dove Lillian remained inside with the chicks, and Clovis flew down to the ground and waited.

  “Come on, my son,” yelled the proud father.

  The community gathered around to greet the newcomers. It was wonderful to have little ones playing in the courtyard. This was a happy time for Clovis and Dove Lillian.

  CHAPTER 14

  While Dove Lillian took Lilac outside the compound to teach her how to forage for food, Clovis took BoCoo on a flying excursion in France, away from the battlefield of Ypres. Clovis and his son flew higher and higher into the sky. BoCoo flew behind his father then lightly perched on his back, and they soared together with wings unfurled. BoCoo was having the time of his life. “Coo-ooroor!”

  They landed on a riverbank deep inside Argonne Forest. While Clovis began browsing, he was unaware that BoCoo had become curious about a combat helmet leaning against the shore. BoCoo leaped up to the rim to investigate and accidentally fell inside, dislodging it into the rapid flow of the river. As the helmet began to twist and turn, BoCoo tried to climb out, but the lining was slippery from stagnant water. Realizing he could not free himself, he became frightened and yelled for his father.

  “Papa!”

  Hearing his cry, Clovis looked around and noticed the floating helmet tossing and turning in the cross currents of the river. He flew up over the helmet and saw his son trapped inside. Clovis urged him to climb out, but the helmet began to rock with the currents each time he tried, with more water entering the helmet.

  “I’m scared, Papa, help!” he gurgled, as his little body began to toss and turn. Clovis tried unsuccessfully to redirect the helmet to the side of the river.

  Suddenly, gunshots rang out ahead, soon followed by the familiar sounds of heavy gun artillery. Clovis feared the worst. It was just a matter of time before they would be entering a river gauntlet, and their deadly fate would be sealed.

  Helplessly watching his son drown brought such great anguish to Clovis, that he began to envision the helmet swirling in slow motion. He reassured BoCoo that he would not abandon him.

  “I cannot save you, but I will not leave you, my son.”

  BoCoo became exhausted as he struggled to survive above water. As he prepared to sink for the last time, he looked up at his father and uttered his last word, ‘Papa.’

  Unknown to Clovis, two soldiers had slipped down to the bank of the river to fill canteens, and to map out their exact location. They were part of a division of the American Expeditionary Forces who were hunkered down nearby in the woods with less than two hundred men.

  One of the soldiers noticed a bird flying frantically over a combat helmet floating downstream, and managed to retrieve the helmet from the moving waters with a nearby tree branch. He gently poured out the water and laid the body of the wet fledgling on the ground. Clovis waited in the distance to witness his son’s fate. The soldier gently pressed his finger into the chest of the fledgling, and to his amazement, water spurted from his beak. When BoCoo recovered, he became frightened in the presence of strangers, and immediately joined his father. Clovis remained motionless in awe of the soldier’s heroic action, whereby the soldier befriended him.

  “Hello, Little Buddy.”

  With encroaching sounds of gunfire, his comrade suggested they return immediately to camp.

  “Major, sir, we need to get back.”

  “Okay Corporal.” They picked up the canteens and headed back. Clovis was grateful to the Major for saving his son, and watched the soldiers disappear into the forest.

  On their flight home, Clovis sensed movement in the forest below and made a quick landing. As he scanned the forest floor, he recognized enemy troops on the ground below. Advancing from all directions, the allies would soon be completely surrounded, he thought. BoCoo sensed his father’s anxiety, and asked him a question that would renew his patriotic spirit.

  “What’s the war about, Papa?”

  Clovis looked down at the son he almost lost. The answer to that question had eluded him throughout the war. He began to recall images of the war, beginning with the homesick grenadier who tearfully asked the same question; gallant soldiers marching off to war with their banners waving before them; the doomed troops who ran over the top with the call of a whistle; and the peaceful image of the brave grenadier lying on the battlefield in no man’s land. It had to be something far greater than the weapons they carried, he thought; something that existed before the war, and something that would survive the war. He realized it could only be one thing.

  “Honor, my son, honor.”

  When they arrived home, BoCoo told his mother about the kind soldier who saved him from drowning. Meanwhile, Clovis knew the Major may require his services, and made plans to return to Argonne Forest.

  First, he sought out the Tumbler, and found him resting outside the compound.

  “Tumbler, I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “Of course, Clovis, what is it?”

  “I want you to take care of my family while I am gone.”

  “It has to do with the war, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know I don’t stay any one place very long.”

  “I won’t be gone long.”

  “Okay, you have my word.”

  “Thank you, Tumbler.”

  “Be careful, my friend.”

  Clovis was about to meet his biggest challenge. What would Dove Lillian say. He brought her to the roadside, and told her that his services were needed, and that he would not be in any danger.

  “Why you, Clovis?” she sobbed.

  He told her how important his family was to him, and reassured her that he would return, and hopefully the war would soon end. As Clovis prepared to leave, Dove Lillian followed closely behind him, begging and clinging. He pulled away from her and leaped into the air. Higher and higher he flew.

  “I will wait for you,” she cried out. She watched her mate fly far away, and wondered if she would ever see him again. The Tumbler waited in the distance to comfort her.

  Clovis continued his flight into France, returning to the woody hollow in Argonne Forest. The Major’s unit was being shelled from all sides. Clovis flew from tree to tree searching for the Major. He found him in a shallow trench writing a message that would inform headquarters of their exact location. The Corporal took their last carrier, MayDay, up to the ridge where she was liberated. Hope for rescue was diminished when the carrier went down shortly after takeoff.

  Clovis placed himself strategically near an open carrier pigeon basket and waited for one of the soldiers to notice there was another carrier. A soldier picked him up and searched in a bag for a canister, and quickly fastened it to his leg.

  Since the Major had no intention of surrendering, there was still hope when another carrier was brought forward. The Major paused for a moment. This carrier looked like the dove he had seen earlier on the river. He began to scribble yet another message. This time he ended it with “Take care of Little Buddy.” While the Corporal placed the message inside the canister, Clovis looked down the trench line at the severe casualties. From bandaged head wounds to leg wounds, the injured soldiers still wielded their weapons.

  The Major gave Clovis a hand salute.


  “Go, with the wings of an eagle!”

  The Corporal liberated Clovis at the top of the hill with these desperate words: “You are our last hope.”

  Clovis was familiar with the enemy and was fearful that he may not be able to save the troops. After scaling to the top of the forest, he began his treacherous flight. Soaring into the open sky, he became a target of the enemy. The first bullet pierced his chest, and another his covert, compromising his left wing mobility. When another bullet glazed his head, he became temporarily disoriented and began to spiral downward. He flapped his wings rapidly to break his fall, but he experienced numbness in his left leg as he fell two feet short of the ridge.

  He raised his head to judge the distance of the ground soldiers hunting for the downed carrier, but he could not see through his blood-filled eye. He lay helpless on the ground, unable to move. His breathing became rapid as his energy dissipated. Believing his mission was over, he waited patiently for a bayonet to put him out of his misery.

  While lying there, he remembered the Corporal’s last words. “You are our only hope.” With a determined spirit to save the troops, he painfully moved his leg out from under his bloody feathers. Digging his claw into the mud, he was able to gradually move his body toward the edge of the ridge, where he was able to regain his flight before he hit the ground below.

  Meanwhile, the Corporal had just watched their last carrier go down, and reported it immediately to the Major. They looked at each other with the realization that defeat was just a matter of time. The Major sat down to quickly write a last letter to his wife.

  As the enemy soldiers arrived where the carrier went down, they found a bloody trail leading to the ledge. Looking over the side into the smoky woods below, there was a consensus that the carrier could not have survived the fall.

  Instead of venturing out into the open sky, Clovis scaled the forest floor, dodging trees and shrubs through artillery smoke that provided ground cover. He had to conserve his energy for the biggest challenge ahead, climbing the second ridge.

  Leaping out of the forest, he quickly made his way up the ridge over the enemy troops, undetected for the moment. He was unable to fully navigate his left wing, veering slightly off course. When the carrier was detected, enemy artillery decreased. When the shelling stopped, the Corporal climbed the hill to see why there were only single rifle shots, then motioned for the Major to join him. The Major took the binoculars and watched as their carrier successfully cleared the second ridge. The Corporal became concerned.

  “Don’t you think he’s a little off course, sir?”

  The Major agreed.

  “He may be wounded.”

  The two officers returned to the trenches and gave the troops the good news. The carrier had made it to base headquarters. The Doughboys cheered and waved their rifles in the air.

  When Clovis found headquarters, he alerted the sentry by passing directly above him, then began circling the area to make a landing he did not feel he would survive.

  “Message arriving!” yelled the sentry. Weak and exhausted from loss of blood, Clovis coasted toward the ground, but his dangling legs crumpled upon impact, propelling his little body into a rolling skid on the ground that rendered him unconscious.

  The sentry removed the message from the canister and immediately handed it to the waiting field commander. After he read the message with their exact location, he called for an immediate rescue effort. The field commander looked down at the injured carrier and instructed the sentry, “Don’t bury him yet; let the Major handle it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The sentry took off his helmet and lined it with his handkerchief. One wing had been broken on impact. He carefully lifted the carrier’s wounded body, as his head dangled.

  The soldier brought the carrier to the medical officer with the field commander’s order to hold him for the Major. The medical officer returned the helmet after transferring Clovis into a small burial box. There were three gunshot wounds; his chest, his covert, and his head. He began to wipe the mud from his wings, then lightly wiped the blood from his injured eye. When the dove flinched, the medical officer was shocked that the bird was still alive, and made sure he was on the next medic truck to the base hospital.

  When the Major was rescued, news circulated that the war may be ending. He requested to be taken to the base hospital to find the carrier that had saved his division. Upon his arrival, he met with the veterinarian, and found the carrier wrapped in bandages. The Major wanted to know if the bird was in any pain, and the doctor assured him there was numbness at this stage.

  “Will he recover?”

  “Hard to tell,” the doctor continued, “Couldn’t save his eye; his wing will heal with time; there may be permanent damage on the covert, so don’t know if he will fly again.”

  “Do whatever you can, Doc.”

  “Hundreds and hundreds of these birds have been killed or mutilated in this darn war.”

  “They have saved thousands of lives.”

  “When all else failed.” The doctor agreed.

  The doctor told the Major that he had done everything he could for the bird, and would release the bird to him the following day.

  The Major would work offshore at the base until it was time to return to the states. He rented a one room flat on the second floor of an apartment house. Furnishings included a bed, dresser, and a wooden writing table with two candles. The window overlooked the town with a city park a short walk away.

  Returning to the base hospital the next morning, the Major was ready to take the bird with him. He was greeted by one of the medical officers who attended the carrier. He seemed to have urgent business with the Major. The Major thanked the medical officer for transporting the carrier to the base hospital.

  “We’ve searched our documents, sir, and could not find any record of this carrier. Since these birds are commissioned by the AEF to carry messages. . .” The Major interrupted.

  “His name is Little Buddy; be sure that gets into the report,” ordered the Major. “He is to receive full honor for saving our unit.”

  “Done, sir,” he said as he walked away.

  The doctor handed the Major a small box of medical supplies and materials needed for the bird’s sutures and told him to bring him back in two weeks for a checkup. He waited while an identification band was placed on the carrier’s leg. Once the Major was alone with the bird, he whispered, “You really are Little Buddy, aren’t you?”

  After a few moments passed, it was finally time to leave the base hospital with the carrier. The Major was grateful for his service, and was anxious to take care of him. When he returned to his room, he placed a clean towel on the dresser, and removed him from the pigeon basket. He opened the window shutters for light. While standing there, he gazed up at the town belfry where he whispered a silent prayer that the little bird would recover. He sat down at the writing desk and began to pen a letter home. Soon he was drawn to the window as good news swept through the streets. Loud cheering filled the air with gathering crowds, sounds of drums, and allied flags were raised in the air.

  And so, on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day, of the eleventh month, the war officially ended, and armistice was declared on November 11, 1918.

  The Major returned to the writing table, happy and excited.

  “The war’s officially over, did you hear that, Little Buddy?”

  The Major would never know how long Clovis had waited to hear those words. But, his dreams of returning home would take much longer than he anticipated. For now, he was wrapped in bandages, unable to move.

  One day the Major received mail from home. His wife had sent a newspaper clipping from the states. “Ha!” he laughed out loud. “Germany has said that the reason they lost the war was due to poor communication. What do you think about that, Little Buddy?”

  As he continued to read the letter silently, Clovis became tearful as he realized that their exploits along the allied trench lines may not have been
in vain after all. He quietly murmured, “Did you hear that, Homer?”

  CHAPTER 15

  By Christmas, 1918, many allied soldiers had left France. Spirits were high as civilians strolled up and down village streets singing Christmas carols.

  The Corporal and his comrades visited the Major. They had built a large cage for the carrier that saved their unit.

  “Merry Christmas, Sir, from me and the fellows,” said the Corporal, opening the door of the cage.

  “Hey, thanks, it’s great.” The major placed Clovis in his new home. But, the cage was not a home for Clovis; it was captivity.

  When spring finally arrived, it was warm enough to visit the park. The Major placed the little bird inside his jacket, much like the pigeoneers did during the war. When they reached the park, the Major placed him on an army blanket. His breast was badly singed, and there was a pockmark over his injured eye. Frustration set in when his left leg collapsed each time he tried to stand up.

  “Easy boy, it’s going to take time.”

  His efforts toward a quick recovery outweighed his physical capabilities. For the next several weeks, Clovis stepped around in his cage, and tried to strengthen his covert by pulling himself up to the swing bar. The Major took him to the park almost every day after work, until he was finally able to fly again. After awhile, the Major felt confident enough to leave Clovis in the park, and meet up with him after work. All he had to do was whistle, and Clovis would land on his shoulder for the walk home.

  One day while in the park, Clovis noticed another dove watching him from a nearby tree. She had gray feathers with white wing tips that gracefully folded as she flew over to join him.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am the Colonel’s Lady.”

  Clovis was unsure whether to tell her his real name or his given name. He decided to live in the present. “I am called Little Buddy.”

  “Are you the carrier that saved the Doughboys?”

  “Yes.”