A Pigeon's Tale

(23 October 2009)

Dear intruders of my personal life,

I guess the best place to start is with an introduction. I am Master Sergeant Blue Beak of Squadron One, the primary fighting unit of the Resistance. I’ve led a life of subtlety, my first memory was of me falling into a snow drift and when I emerged I was completely blue. Thus, I was called Blue of the family of Beak.

“Whoa, dude, that’s some pretty deep shit.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t use pens can we?”

Oh yeah, I’m a pigeon.

The one who claimed that I was writing in shit is called Sergeant Buck Beak, my cousin and inferior. Inferior is the right word to use when discussing those of a lower rank to you, right? Oh well. We’ve formed a mutual respect for one another, something that doesn’t come often in the air force, especially amongst Squadron One’s ranks.

For the record, I wasn’t writing in shit. I was writing with shit. No pens, remember?

Blue Beak finished up his entry and folded the soggy piece of material he had used and placed it under his wing. Buck Beak nodded towards the centre of the square they were perched in, and watched as a small human child chased away a flock of birds that were previously munching on the leftovers the humans had dropped.

“They’re attacking! It’s like yesterday all over again!” the young and startled pigeon flew over its commanding officers to escape the terror.

“Rookies, everything scares them,” Blue Beak stated.

“Give them a break, Master Sergeant; things are starting to get worse. The other day an adult human with a large stick attacked us. It’s not kids that are bothering us anymore,” Buck Beak said with a look of concern in his eyes.

“Ooh, look out, rogue human infant at twelve o’clock. Time to show the runt what real pigeons are made of,” Blue and Buck perched perfectly still as the human child wailed, squealed and kicked at the air. After about half a minute the child gave up and stared menacingly at the pigeons that did not appear fazed by the thing. Blue presented his wings and shouted angrily at the child, who ran off crying. “Yeah, that’s right, run off you stupid creature. Humans, I really do not understand them.”

“Tell me about it. Shall I recall the Squadron?”

“Yes, I think immediate retraining is required.”

“You said it, sir.”

**

(26 October 2009)

The retraining is going terrible. We tried to inspire the troops by showing them a training montage from Rocky Beak, and then they all thought that slapping a bag for five seconds, and then jumping up and down for another five seconds whilst keeping in time to the music is what training is all about. Lieutenant Dare Wing decided to try and inspire the troops himself.

“Never in my time have I seen such sorry excuses for Airmen. I mean, do you really know what being part of the Resistance is all about? According to my records, your training is up to scratch. Master Sergeant Blue Beak has done his best to ensure that we get the best out of you. So what the fuck is up with you rookies? What is it? You were picked to be in Squadron One because you were the so called best of the best. Well why don’t you display it? Someone, please explain it to me,” the Lieutenant knew he wouldn’t get an answer, their embarrassed, sorry-looking beaks told him that much, but he knew that being a ball breaker would work with these Airmen.

Thus, hours upon hours of star-jumps initiated, followed by hours and hours of marching.

“Permission to speak, sir,” said Airman Tuft Feathers with the sound of pain on his voice.

“Permission granted,” Sergeant Buck Beak said.

“Why are we walking for so long when we can just fly?”

“Because, while flying is all well and good, and will indeed be the best way to escape from any situation, how would you cope if you were to lose the operation of one of your wings?”

“Well... I guess I’d ... walk.”

“Exactly, Airman, you’d walk your sorry ass back to base camp. If we didn’t do this constantly then you’d be in a sticky situation indeed.”

Back at the base camp, Blue was discussing things with Dare over a make-shift table, with small amounts of bread that they would occasionally peck at. Base camp was on top of an abandoned car park that conveniently overlooked the centre of town that the humans were constantly bustling through, day and night.

“What do you think, Master Sergeant? I’m asking you this now, what do you really think of the human threat?” Dare said, putting emphasis into his voice.

“I don’t think we should live like we’ve been doing for so long now. We take the scraps of food that the humans leave behind, and quite frankly I don’t think that’ll cut it anymore. I mean, they’re actually clearing litter now. It’s like they want us all dead.”

“I agree with you, Blue Beak, we need to contact the General right away. Where’s my red phone?”

“I’m right here, sir,” a pigeon that was strangely coloured red stepped up with a small pouch attached to his leg. Lieutenant Dare Wing placed the parchment he had just written up into the pouch and Red Phone flew off.

A number of hours later Red Phone returned with a new parchment.

“Ah, the General says hello,” Dare stated whilst reading the parchment.

“We really need to find a better way of communicating,” Blue said, peering over Dare’s wing.

“Maybe we could take something from the humans.”

“Yes, they do put strange cuboids up their ears and then speak into them. Perhaps we can develop a similar technology.”

“We’re really moving into realms that we’ve never dared venture before. Red Phone, I’m going to give you a lengthier message, make sure the General does the same. Unless the General orders you to piss off, you are not to leave his side until he gives us the go ahead on my idea.”

“What is your idea, sir?”

“Oh but that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?”

**

“Squadron One, rally to me,” upon Dare’s command the pigeons waddled over and stood in formation in front of him. “This is an important mission men, you are entrusted to boost the morale of pigeons everywhere, to ensure that more and more follow our example and stop taking the humans’ fucking leftovers. We will strike the café immediately and plunder as much as we can, and at the same time prove to the humans that we are more than just a harmless nuisance. We shall be known as a deadly nuisance, threatening their very survival as a species!”

“Sir, that’s a little over the top,” Buck added.

“Yes, well… I like to dream a little. Now, my faithful pigeons, fly like you’ve been trained by professionals, which you have!”

(27 October)

The order was given and I started to beat my wings. It was a sensation I felt every day, yet I still absolutely loved the feeling of anti-gravity beneath me, like nothing could bring me back down.

We took flight, and headed towards the human café, where the creatures were happily munching on scones and drinking coffee. That coffee would soon be full of my stool.

The shit bombings started and the humans instantly ran for cover. Within moments the men, women and children were covered in bird droppings. Plops in their drinks told them that their coffees were no longer drinkable, and immediately it seemed that the humans had lost this battle. But, umbrellas and parasols went up and the shit was no longer effective.

“Sir, they’ve deployed shields, what are we going to do now?” Buck screamed at Blue.

“Buck, we’re going to scare the living daylights out of them,” Blue winked at Buck, “You’re my wingman.”

Blue and Buck broke from the rest of the squadron and flew beneath the human shielding and the already frightened humans shrieked and tried to fling random objects at the brave pigeons. Several of the humans even formed lumps in the back of their trousers in the terror. Hah.

The other pigeons flew in and started picking up all the food substances and mini milk cartons they could get their claws on. Master Sergeant Blue hovered on the spot firing orders at the young pigeons, but smiled at how well the assault had gone.

Suddenly a burly human in greasy clothes burst out of the café and brandished a wooden tray. Unfortunately Buck was amongst the pigeons, and when he gave the order for them to disperse, the tray smashed into him, sending him flying towards the ground. Blue spotted this and immediately started cursing at the human.

“BUCK, NO! Airmen, use your beaks!” the pigeons obeyed and swarmed the bastard human, pecking at him wildly. Blue made his way down to his cousin, and then held Buck’s head in his wing. “Stay with me, Buck, you’re one of the finest soldiers I know!”

“Damn, I was only two days away from retirement,” Buck coughed out.

“No you’re not; you’re several years away from retirement.”

“I know… I just wanted to say something a black man would say.”

“Yet, I’m still not going to let you die.”

“Yes you are, Blue. I can’t feel anything anymore. The world is cold and I can see the light.”

“That’s just your concussion talking.”

“Blue, there is no way I can survive this. Give me the burial of a hero.”

“You didn’t even need to ask me that, Buck. You’ll get the best damn burial this world has ever seen.”

I called off the attack when the pigeons had gathered enough stuff, and I carried Buck with me, to make sure that his memory would live on forever.

**

(28 October)

Today is the day that we bury Sergeant Buck Beak, the best damn airman I’ve ever known. I... I can’t write anymore. It seems worthless. Everyone’s faces could tell the picture. Buck was everyone’s friend. Let’s get this over with.

Squadron One stood in formation at Base Camp as Sergeant Buck Beak's body was carried past them in a cardboard coffin. The coffin was then placed down next to the gutter, which had been purposefully filled with the cleanest water for the occasion. The pigeon anthem was played, but the gusto and heart it usually seemed to have didn’t have that effect any longer. It seemed that the musicians, too, were mourning.

Blue Beak marched up to the coffin, placed his wing on the lid and then slumped his head down. The Master Sergeant would rarely ever be seen standing in any way but bolt-upright, wings clasped behind his back as if a superior was constantly watching. But now he was reduced a sobbing slouch. Lieutenant Dare Wing placed his wing on Blue’s shoulder and his head jerked up about half an inch as his instinct told him to snap to attention, but his heart didn’t want to deal with regulation that day.

**

(15 November)

Our plan worked. Beaks everywhere are taking flight to ruin the day-to-day activities of the humans. The Resistance continues to push forward as we work our way further and further into the human fortresses. Everyday our food stocks rise, so much so that rationing has been cut back immensely. Our understanding of human technology is starting to improve, all because one day Tuft Feathers pushed a button on a stolen communications device and it started emitting a noise that we now know to be called a “Justin Bieber”. We do not know why the humans invented the Justin Bieber machine, but the noise that expels from it is monstrous. Plans are being set in motion to find the source of this Justin Bieber and we plan to eradicate it.

Still, I do hope Buck’s death was worth it. He inspired millions of pigeons around the world to let loose their shackles and fight back. Apparently the pigeons in France are doing very well. The French humans just don’t care enough to retaliate, and simply resort to leaving food outside for the pigeons to feast on. Yet, back in here in England, the fight will continue for many generations to come.

One day, the humans will treat us as equals.