The pigeons rustled.

“They’re here!” Bertie shouted from the lawn.

Their embrace faded. Susan lowered her cheek to his chest. Ollie’s hands dropped from her shoulders, drifted down her arms, and rested on her waist.

Susan stepped back, space falling between them.

Ollie’s arms fell to his side. His heartbeat slowed.

Susan straightened her skirt and adjusted her hair.

“Ready to win the war?” Ollie asked.

She nodded.

Outside, three military trucks rolled up the lane and then stopped. A sergeant got out and said, “We’re here for pickup.” He unfolded a piece of paper. “Order for five hundred.”

“The first several lofts,” Bertie said, pointing. “They’re in the cages.”

Susan and Ollie sat on the porch and watched the soldiers load pigeons. In less than an hour, the lofts were emptied. The soldiers got into their trucks and started the engines, except for the last truck; its engine coughed as the driver turned the ignition. As the first two trucks pulled away, the driver of the stalled truck sounded the horn and waved his hand out the window. The trucks screeched to a stop.

A soldier in the lead truck stuck his head out the window. “What’s the matter?”

“Won’t start!” the driver shouted.

The soldiers got out of the vehicles, opened the hood of the disabled truck, and inspected the engine. After several minutes of tinkering, the truck still wouldn’t start.

“We’ll have to call for a mechanic or another vehicle,” one of the soldiers said.

“That’ll take time,” the sergeant said. “We can’t afford to be late.” He looked at Bertie. “Is there a mechanic nearby?”

Bertie shook his head. “They’ve all joined the fight. Closest one is Jacob Wiseman, in Loughton.”

“Too far,” the sergeant said.

“Just as well,” Bertie said. “Jacob makes me look like a spring squab. He’s rather slow these days.”

“Damn it,” the sergeant said. “We’ll have to call for another vehicle.”

Bertie stepped toward him. “You have another option.”

“What’s that?” asked the sergeant.

“You can use my lorry. And he can drive,” Bertie said, pointing to Ollie.

Ollie straightened his back.

The sergeant crossed his arms and gave a heavy exhale, his cheeks puffing.

“It’ll guarantee that you’ll be on time,” Bertie said. “And you won’t need your men to return my lorry.”

The sergeant paused. He looked at Ollie, then to his watch. “Very well.”

Ollie marveled at how Bertie could convince the military, or possibly anyone for that matter, to accept his suggestions. He wished he could have been in the room to hear him convince the commander to free him from jail.

The soldiers quickly moved the pigeons from the disabled vehicle onto Bertie’s truck. The soldiers squeezed into their vehicles, three in each cab. Engines revved. Pigeons flapped their wings.

Bertie pulled a key from his pocket and tossed it to Ollie. “I assume pilots can drive.”