Cher ami spread her wings wide and rose into the air, an angel in flight. As she soared above the desolate French countryside, she knew that the hopes of over one hundred ninety men rested upon her. “I will never stop, they are counting on me. I will do it for you poor Destiné”, she declared. Bullets whizzed past like swarming bees, barely missing her. The Germans would do all they could to make sure that the messenger pigeon didn’t deliver her message. The message was a call for help. Almost two hundred men were trapped without food or ammunition. If the message didn’t make it, they would be done for. 

As she flew only one thought went through her mind. “I must get home”. There was still twenty five miles left to go. Then a bullet struck Cher ami in the chest, and she fell. 

It was the morning of October 3, 1918. Around two hundred American soldiers serving in France were trapped without ammunition or food. The Germans surrounded them and many were dead or dying. But not only men were trapped that day. 

“There goes another one”, muttered George, as a man was carried over to the medics on a stretcher. Blood soaked his shirt and his face was pale. 

“Oh, poor boy”, moaned Cher ami. “He’s so young. I heard him talking about his brothers and sisters back home”. George winced. 

“I told you never to say that word”, he said angrily. 

“I don’t care”, sniffed Cher ami. “Nothing calls more strongly to a pigeon than the call of home”. 

“There is no such place! At least not anymore”. George sighed and went back to his corner of the cage. George had been there longer than any of the other pigeons, he could scarcely remember a time when he had not been in the trenches. He knew the difference between hope and reality. 

“I believe there is”, said little Destiné, timidly. She was a small, white homing pigeon who had just been sent in and had never been on a mission before. “If there is no home, then what are we going to?” 

“There is no point thinking about home”, said George, before Cher ami could reply. “Don’t you see these men here? All of them are away from home. And few will ever see it again!” Destiné looked down at her feet. 

“I know I’m not very experienced like the rest of you. I just was wondering”, she replied. 

“Don’t talk like that George!” cried Cher ami. Then, turning to Destiné she continued, “I say the hope of home, is all that keeps us going. Keep up hope little Destiné, you will soar. There is no greater calling for a homing pigeon than to be a messenger! Think of where you are headed and ignore their guns!” She spread her wings wide and flapped them a few times to emphasize her meaning. Destiné stared admiringly. 

“You must be very brave Cher ami”, she said. George snorted. 

“Ignore their guns?” he scoffed. “Poppycock! Whether you ignore them or not, they still kill. You must not just think about the journey’s end Destiné, but also of the journey. There is no end to our journey, unless it comes from the barrel of a gun”. 

“I say that a coward has no place on the battlefield”, snapped Cher ami. A bomb hit the ground and the earth shook like a trembling creature, cornered by the hunters. “Oh, I can’t bare it!” she cried. “They’ll all die if something is not done!” As if in answer to her cry, a young soldier came over to the cage and unlatched the door. 

“Alright girl”, he said gently, taking Destiné from the cage. “Major Whittlesey wants you to deliver us a message”. Destiné looked back at George and Cher ami as a message was tied to her leg. 

Cher ami nodded. “You’ll do wonderful Destiné”, she whispered. George just shook his head and looked away. Destiné smiled bravely. 

The soldier took Destiné over to the edge of the trench and, whispering a prayer, let her go. Destiné soared into the sky, her white wings reflecting the light as she flew home. She carried hope on her wings. Her face was determined and beautiful. Then Cher ami let out a despairing cry, like the wail of a dying swan as the little bird when limp and dropped from the sky. 

Another pigeon had been sent with a message of help, he too had been shot down by the German troops. Then, by mistake, their own side had begun firing on them. In desperation, the soldiers sent Cher ami with a message. A few seconds into flight, she was shot down by a German machine gun. 

Cher ami struggled to get back into the air, but she was badly wounded. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry”, she gasped. She was unable to see out of one eye, blood poured from her wound, and in a moment of shock she found she couldn’t feel one leg. She looked down to see why it gone numb. “Oh dear Father, why must it be my leg?” The leg was almost completely gone and hung on only by a single tendon. “You were right George, you were right all along”, she whispered. She bowed her head and waited for death. “Poor stupid humans”, she thought. “What other creature on this earth would do such evil?” Her whole broken body was burning with pain. 

“Cher ami”, said a gentle voice from beside her. She looked up. 

“Destiné!” she gasped. “I thought you were dead”. Destiné smiled weakly, her once snow-like feathers were soaked with blood. 

“They got you too then”, said Destiné. 

“I couldn’t do it Destiné”, she moaned. “There is no home. We will never see it again”. There was a moment of absolute silence between them as Cher ami prepared to die beside her friend. Black clouds formed above them and the smoke of guns drifted across the ground like fog. Then Destiné spoke up. 

“George was right, you know. Bullets do kill”, she said, using the final bit of her strength. “I’ve never completed a mission before, I don’t believe I ever will. But I think that, though bullets can stop you, when a bird falls, she still has her wings.” She stared into Cher ami’s black eyes, her own shining brilliantly. “Don’t give up Cher ami. Don’t let our lives be in vain”. 

Cher ami looked up at the dark sky. She closed her eyes and saw the faces of the soldiers, counting on her. She saw her younger days when she had been with her trainer Enoch Swain. She saw then many missions she had done in the past. Then she heard the irresistible call. The call of home. 

She took a deep breath, spread her tired wings, and flew back into the burning fires of a hell on earth. “Goodbye dear friend”, whispered Destiné. For a moment her face shone like a saint’s, then she leaned back her head, took her final breath, and died. Even in death, a smile hung about her bloodied beak. 

Cher ami flew faster and harder than she ever had in her life. With every flap of her wings her body ached. The wind that blew against her stung against her open flesh. Her leg had absolutely no feeling in it as it swung back and forth on that single tendon (her lucky tendon she decided). She felt faint and barley noticed the world around her. Bullets kept shooting at the poor bird as she tried to get home. Home. That was the only thing that kept her going. It was the hope of a better place, a place of rest. “I will keep going. They need me”. And Cher ami flew home. 

Cher ami opened her eyes. Where was she? Suddenly everything came back to her at once. Destiné’s encouragement, her leg, that terrible flight, and that one spark of hope. She had reached division headquarters with the message. They had read the message and then there was a lot of shouting and running around. Someone had picked her up and… that was all she could remember. She moved around to see where she was. As she did she noticed something strange. Her wounds felt mostly better but that wasn’t it. She looked down. 

“Well, how’s the hero of the 77^th Infantry Division?” asked George, coming over to the edge of his cage. Cher ami lay on a towel just outside it. 

“I’m mostly better”, she said casually. George twisted his head sideways and peered at her. 

“Sorry about your leg”, he said at last. He motioned to her small stump, all that was left of her leg. She sighed. 

“I only gave my leg, Destiné gave her life”, she said softly. George nodded, sadly. 

“You’ve done us proud Cher ami”, he said. “You saved the lives of over one hundred ninety men. Destiné may rest in peace”.  

“Poor little Destiné”, said Cher ami, quietly. “You were right. The world is not as simple as it seems”. 

“You are the one who flew twenty five miles with bullet in your chest to deliver a message written on onion paper”, George pointed out. If pigeons could blush they would look exactly like Cher ami did then. 

Just then two medics came over. “She’s getting better”, said a man with a big nose. He inspected Cher ami. 

“It’s too bad we couldn’t have saved her leg”, said the other medic, a young woman with light blond hair. 

“We can make her a wooden one”, said big nose. “When she gets well enough we’ll send her to the United States for retirement”. 

“Oh, it will be good for her to have a home”, said the woman. 

“Home”, whispered Cher ami. Suddenly she didn’t notice the pain or her missing leg. She was going home. 

“I hear they are planning to give her a medal”, said big nose. 

As soon as she was able to travel Cher ami and her peg leg went on a boat to America, with General Pershing himself seeing her off. Cher ami was indeed given a medal. She was awarded the Croix de guerre for her service in the Verdun. 

A year later Cher ami peacefully joined Destiné. It was a result of the terrible wounds she had received, but she was a hero and she went with a good conscience. Not many can show as much bravery as this simple homing pigeon. But her success was not just because of her bravery. In her own words, “to be a messenger is greatest calling for a pigeon. Of course you must be brave, but I say that the hardest trail is to never give in. Even when your heart fails, your wings may keep beating”. 

As for George? Well, who do you think wrote this story?