“Maybe less, assuming our mission wins the war.”

“Eat,” Susan said, placing the scones on the table. “We have work to do.”

Ollie’s appetite had shrunken, and he felt full after a few bites, but he forced himself to finish a scone. He drank three more cups of tea, feeling his strength returning with each sip.

Minutes later, Ollie found himself in Bertie’s truck. Susan sat between them as Bertie drove along a farm path, a swath of tall grass running down the middle. The farm was smaller than his parents’ property back home. But as far as he could see, there were no other houses in sight, just a rolling green pasture with grazing sheep. A series of wooden sheds dotted the hillside, like large outhouses or miniature barns. Ollie assumed they were shearing sheds, but why so many?

Bertie parked the truck at the first shed. “Time for work,” he said, turning off the engine.

Ollie followed Bertie and Susan inside. Wings fluttered. Dozens of pigeons flew around them. Ollie shielded his face with his arm. Some pigeons landed on the floor; others retreated to their nests. As flapping wings settled into cooing, Ollie lowered his arm.

“Ready for your flying lesson?” Bertie asked.

Ollie’s eyebrows raised. “Birds?”

“Pigeons,” Susan said.

Ollie wrinkled his forehead. “The British government’s secret mission is pigeons?”

“Source Columba,” Bertie said.

“These pigeons are going to help us win the war,” Susan added.

Ollie took a deep breath. “No offense, but it’s going to take a lot more than birds to—”

“Pigeons,” Susan interrupted.

“Okay, pigeons.” Ollie noticed Susan’s hands on her hips. “I was merely trying to understand why the British government would spend its efforts on pigeons when London is being bombed. It’s going to take planes and pilots to fight the air war.”

A pigeon, looking as if it were painted in fluorescent purple and green paint, flew to Susan’s shoulder. She stroked the bird across the back with a finger. “Duchess, Ollie obviously has much to learn about pigeons.”

Duchess cocked her head and stared at Ollie.

“I didn’t mean to offend you. I was only . . .”

Duchess jumped, fluttered across the loft, and landed on Ollie’s shoulder.

Ollie froze. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he watched the bird, its beak a few inches from his chin. He swallowed, fearing that it would peck him.

Duchess blinked, flashing her golden eyes.

Ollie exhaled. “I think he likes me.”

Duchess shook her tail feathers.

Ollie felt something warm run down his arm and grimaced.

“Duchess is a she. And she didn’t appreciate your comments.” Susan plucked the pigeon from Ollie’s shoulder.

“We have a long day ahead of us,” Bertie said. “Ollie, gather the baskets behind the shed. Susan and I will load.”