War of the Eagles by Eric Walters

quarters of the rabbit, Smitty was by himself, squatting in the dirt, watching the eagle.
    â€œWhere’d everybody go?” I asked.
    â€œI put them all to work.”
    This didn’t surprise me. Smitty was only a sergeant but people, even the officers, seemed to listen to him.
    â€œI wanted the eagle to be more comfortable. I sent two guys to the workshop to build a lean-to, two more to get a large branch it could use for a perch, one guy to get fresh water and the rest out to cut up small cedars.”
    â€œWhat are the cedars for?”
    â€œThe bird looks scared. I thought if it had a place to hide, sort of like a blind, it would feel safer and calmer,” he answered. “I don’t know how hurt it is, but if it keeps leaping up in the air it’s going to break its neck too.”
    â€œWhat do you want me to do with this?” I said, gestur–ing to the remains of the rabbit.
    â€œGuess.”
    â€œDon’t be such a wise guy. I meant, do you want me to give it to the bird now or wait?”
    â€œNow’s good.”
    I tossed the meat and it skittered across the ground, bumping into the eagle’s feet. The bird jumped backwards.
    â€œFirst time I’ve ever heard of an eagle being afraid of a rabbit,” I chuckled.
    â€œEspecially a dead rabbit.”
    The eagle cocked its head to the side, tentatively reached out a talon to poke the rabbit, and then drew its leg back. This was repeated a second and then a third time. Finally, the eagle leapt into the air and landed squarely on the leg. The talons disappeared into the flesh as the eagle sat atop the carcass, and it let out a screech. The bird reached down and with its powerful curved beak tore a large strip off the carcass. It tossed the meat slightly into the air and then, in one big gulp, swallowed it down. It repeated this process, again and again.
    A car, a brown Ford, pulled through the main gate.
    It came to a stop and a smallish man carrying a black bag got out.
    â€œAre you the vet?” Smitty asked.
    â€œYes, I am. And I’d be a happier vet if I was going to examine a dog or cat.”
    â€œI guess people don’t often bring their pet eagles to see you,” Smitty deadpanned.
    â€œParrots and budgies, yes, eagles no.”
    â€œSame thing, pretty much, isn’t it?” Smitty asked.
    â€œOne big difference. You never have to worry about a budgie biting off your finger or ripping you open.”
    â€œThat is a difference,” Smitty agreed. “How are you going to examine it?”
    â€œCarefully. Very carefully and from a safe distance, at least at first.”
    The vet circled around the eagle and watched it rip apart the rabbit. Occasionally he’d nod his head or quietly mutter something.
    â€œIs there any way you can get that meat away from it?” he asked Smitty.
    â€œSure, there’s probably lots of ways. None of which I’m going to try.”
    The vet grimaced and nodded in agreement. “Could we get it a mouse or a rat to eat?”
    â€œThat we could do,” Smitty reassured him. Smitty turned to two of the men who had just brought back a large branch to use as a perch.
    â€œCheck out the mousetraps in the kitchen and bar–racks. If there are any mice, bring them back. Jed, go as well.”
    As the three of us headed off in different directions, I saw Major Brown come out of his office toward the eagle. I wanted to turn around and hear what was going to happen. Instead I started running. The faster I could get a mouse the faster I could come back.
    The trap in the kitchen was empty. A second, in the corner of the mess, was equally deserted. Running out the front door, I almost knocked into three men walk–ing to their work detail who were rubbernecking in the direction of the eagle. I sprinted along the walkway until I came to the officers’ club. Opening the door, I pushed the magazine rack away from the wall. There it was!