Ollie went outside and cleaned his sleeve with a handful of dry leaves. He gathered the baskets, which turned out to be cages, long wood-framed boxes with wire-mesh fronts, which resembled flimsy lobster traps. After stacking baskets in the shed, Bertie showed him how to place the pigeons inside by wrapping hands over their wings and tucking fingers under their bellies. Ollie was surprised that the pigeons didn’t fuss, squirm, scratch, or even peck, allowing him to easily place them in baskets.

Ollie glanced at Susan.

Susan turned her head and continued loading.

After the pigeons were in baskets, except for the one that had relieved itself on his sleeve, Ollie stacked them into the bed of the truck. They drove to a second loft, where they loaded more pigeons, secured the baskets with twine to keep them from shifting, and then took their seats in the truck.

“Did you count them?” Bertie asked.

“Yes,” Susan said, holding Duchess. “One hundred twenty-seven.”

Bertie placed the key in the ignition and cranked the engine.

Ollie felt as if there was more room, then noticed Susan was pressed against the passenger-side door. She stared out the window, holding Duchess on her lap. Ollie felt like he had swallowed a stone. It was their mission, and he had belittled their work, even after they had taken him in. He hoped that he could think of something to say that could erase his hurtful remarks. Ollie opened his mouth but stopped when he sensed Susan inching farther away.

Bertie drove down the lane and turned north onto a paved road. Bertie shifted gears, getting the old truck up to speed. “How are the pigeons?” Bertie asked Ollie.

Ollie turned and looked through the back window. The baskets hadn’t shifted. Only a trail of downy feathers. “Good,” he said.

“We’re headed to Clacton-on-Sea,” Bertie said. “It’s a remote area on the coast. The pigeons will have an opportunity to fly over water.” He glanced to Ollie. “Soon they’ll be flying over the English Channel.”

“Where are they flying to?”

Susan interrupted. “Did you know that homing pigeons were used by the Egyptians over three thousand years ago?”

“No,” Ollie said.

“Of course not. And you probably didn’t know that a homing pigeon can travel distances of up to six hundred miles per day, fly at speeds of seventy miles per hour, and reach altitudes as high as thirty-five thousand feet.” Susan looked at Ollie. “At that height, Ollie, the temperature would be thirty-five degrees below zero, and a pilot would need a heated suit and oxygen.”

Bertie nudged Ollie. “Ever fly that high, Oliver from Maine?”

Ollie shook his head.

“For centuries, animals have been relied upon during times of war.” Susan cupped Duchess in her hands. “And would you like to guess as to which animal made the most significant contributions to the Allied victory in the Great War?”

“Birds?”

Susan stared at him. Duchess perked her head.