War of the Eagles by Eric Walters Page B

safety.”
    While I helped place the cover, the vet, accompanied by the major, went into the mess hall. They’d probably get a coffee or slice of pie. My stomach growled and I remembered I hadn’t eaten. Smitty had the same idea and, as soon as the last branch was placed, we high-tailed it for the back door of the kitchen.
    My mother had two meals, under overturned pie plates, sitting on the table. She didn’t say a word as we tore into our meals. Lunch may have just ended but she was already getting supper ready at the counter. There were two soldiers, doing a punishment duty, working away at the sink. Between bites, Smitty glanced anxiously at his watch.
    Without warning, Smitty jumped up from the table. “The mail!” he yelped. “I forgot the mail. It’s all still sitting in my jeep. I’ll get killed if something happens to it.” He ran for the door, still chewing his last mouth–ful of food.
    â€œWas there a lot of mail today?” my mother ques–tioned.Smitty stopped and propped the door open with his foot.
    â€œYep. Lots of letters and even more parcels.”
    â€œParcels? What sort of parcels?”
    â€œThey’re all wrapped up tight but most have blankets or coats or special treats or bread.”
    â€œBread? Why would anybody send bread? By the time it got here it would be all stale. They can get my fresh baked bread anytime.”
    â€œBeats me,” he answered, although the way he looked away, it was obvious he knew more than he was saying.
    My mother had a thoughtful look on her face. “I smell something here and it isn’t the smell of baking bread.”
    â€œI don’t smell anything,” Smitty answered. “I must have a head cold from all the rain.”
    Smitty let the door close and ran off across the pa–rade ground.
    I managed to stuff in enough food to stop my stom–ach from grumbling. It’s amazing how fast you can eat if you don’t waste any time chewing. While my mother had her back to me I brought my plate over to the garbage can and scraped off the remaining food. Dropping the plate into the soapy sink water, I hurried away.
    â€œI’ll be back later to help,” I offered as an excuse.
    There were cedars piled around the flagpole and I couldn’t see the eagle. I wanted to see but had enough sense not to crowd right in. If those pills weren’t work–ing, I could find the eagle a lot faster, and a lot closer, than I wanted. The branch, which had been brought for the bird to use as a perch, was still off to the side. I sat down on it. Nothing to do but wait.
    Fortunately the wait wasn’t too long. The vet and Ma–jor Brown came out from the mess hall. The major still carried a mug and took sips as they moved forward.
    â€œWell, Jed, is he asleep?” Major Brown asked.
    â€œHaven’t seen him, and there aren’t any sounds.”
    â€œThat’s a good sign,” the vet announced. He dug into his bag again and produced a pair of heavy canvas gloves. “But, just in case, these might help.”
    The vet started pulling away clumps of cedar branch–es. With each one I expected the eagle to come hurtling towards him. There was still no movement.
    â€œPoor fella,” he said quietly, and motioned for us to come closer.
    The eagle was lying on its side, eyes closed, not mov–ing. I was afraid it was dead. Then I could make out the faint movement of the chest going up and down.
    He picked up the eagle and cradled it gently. It filled his arms.
    â€œCould you go over by my bag … Jed, isn’t it? … I left a small hood right there on the ground.”
    I brought it over. He carefully placed it on top of the eagle’s head and, using his teeth, pulled the drawstring at the bottom to secure it in place.
    â€œHe’s off in dream land,” the vet said. “Now, with the hood in place, even if he does wake up, we’ll still be