Susan pointed to the sea. “First, the bombers need to make it to France, avoiding enemy antiaircraft fire. Those that haven’t been shot down will release hundreds of small cages, each containing one pigeon. The parachutes, which have not been tested, need to open and safely deliver the pigeons to the ground.”

Ollie slid his hands into his pockets.

“Many of the pigeons will be found and destroyed by the enemy,” Susan said. “Others will be left unnoticed in fields or tangled high in trees, only to freeze or starve. Our hope is that some of the pigeons will land in the hands of members of the French Resistance, who will record troop movements on a piece of paper, placed into a canister attached to the pigeon’s leg.”

“The pigeons that remain will have a dangerous trip back,” Bertie added. “The enemy, alerted to the droppings, will no doubt have snipers aiming for them.”

Susan wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “We estimate that one in three will make it back.”

Ollie looked at the empty cages.

“It’s a high price,” Bertie said. “But we have no choice. Our only chance of victory is to know what the Nazis are doing, especially when and where they will commence a land invasion.”

Susan shivered. She turned and watched the pigeons, mere specks on the horizon, disappear from sight.

Ollie loaded the baskets and secured them with twine.

They got into the truck and headed home. Susan stared out the side window. Bertie grunted in pain as he shifted gears. And Ollie forgot all about joining the RAF, his thoughts on the desperate sacrifices of Susan, Bertie, and the pigeons to save Britain.

CHAPTER 14 - EPPING, ENGLAND

CHAPTER 14

EPPING, ENGLAND

The return trip from Clacton-on-Sea was quiet, except for the whistle of wind through empty cages in the bed of the truck. Susan sat with her arms folded, watching the English countryside pass by her window. And Ollie tried to think of the right words to ease Susan’s pain.

It must be heartrending for Susan to know the fate of the pigeons, he thought.

Twice Ollie gathered the courage to speak, but each time he was interrupted by Bertie pointing out landmarks: an area of eroded coastline where he believed the Germans would invade and relics of an old mill he had once explored as a boy. Ollie harbored his words. He did his best to listen to Bertie, but his thoughts were on Susan.

They arrived back at the farm before noon. Bertie parked the truck in front of a loft; more precisely, he let his tired foot slip from the clutch and stall the engine. Their heads jerked. Ollie and Susan braced their arms against the dash.

“Perhaps I should consider driving,” Susan said, rubbing her neck.

“Nonsense,” Bertie said. “There’s nothing wrong with my driving. I’m merely eager to check on our pigeons.”