They were milling around on the water, unsure of what to do. The explosions overhead were becoming more intense, and a note of panic was rising throughout the troops. Something flew overhead, a plaintive note of fear whistling past with it.
The cover of the island behind them was lost – they were all in full view now, but with one saving grace - they were further away from the action, but the sounds and the flashes and the smoke seemed to fill the world and with every explosion it became more and more apparent that something had to be done.
“Let’s go.”
They followed her, glad of a quack with some authority in it. The island retreated behind, but the further away they swam, the rockets seemed higher and higher and bigger and louder and more frightening. As one, their nerves took over and they accelerated towards the bank.
Behind them a huge white explosion was followed by multicoloured points of light floating in all directions. The gaggle was brought up sharply. The light showed them waiting. Hundreds, thousands of them standing along the banks of the lake, packed in deeply, as far as the beady eye could see, solemnly, silently staring. Red flashes span and spread along the banks quickly, quickly flashing, not stopping. Something in the depths of the Colonel’s avian mind told her the humans weren’t here to throw bread.
“Back! Back!”
Legs span in a flurry below the water, breaking it into white in the hurry. The flock reached a mid-point between the island and the shore, between the fearful thunderous light that shocked the night, and the eerily still humans that blocked their escape.
A hundred high pitched whines like a thousand years’ banshees being released from hell shook the air from behind the island, thankfully low enough for the birds not to see what was causing it.
“Sir! Sir! What are we going to do, sir?” It was a duckling. Young, inexperienced and ugly. Ugly as hell, in fact. The Colonel tried to hide her revulsion.
“I don’t know, son. We seem to be all right here.”
“Yes sir,” said the ugly duckling, who sculled away sullenly, eyes wide to the sky.
Grey-white shapes slid quickly around the edge of the Island. There was a brief moment of inelegance as they turned and then the swans continued speeding along, close to the trees on the muddly shore. ‘Hot damn,’ thought the Colonel, ‘if I didn’t know better I’d say those smarmy buggers were scared.’
“Formation!” she cried. The swans were heading towards them. Panic receded behind discipline for a few ordered seconds.
“Colonel!” called the lead swan. The Colonel knew him to be called Prince. They were all named after royalty, the posh bastards. “We think a truce is in order! Something needs to be done!”
“Bread thieves!” hissed someone from inside the duck ranks.
“Silence!” called the Colonel. “I accept, Prince. We need to get out of here.”
“We concur,” said the swan. “You chaps have any ideas?”
Another rocket exploded sending pink stars in all directions. Some of the swans dipped their beaks to the water in fear.
The Colonel turned about, and her ranks split ahead of her. Prince swam alongside.
“Yes I do,” said the Colonel.
The ranks were mingling with only a fraction of their usual animosity, and the ugly young duckling was already chatting intensely with one of the younger swans. Strange that. The two of them look almost...
Back to business.
She pointed her beak at an area of the bank where the humans were smallest.
“We have to take that beach.”
*
Allie and I were looking up with everyone else. The fireworks were amazing, even better than the ones at the end of Cowes Week at home. After a week of assembling the requisite herbs and spices, and an hour of chopping vegetables, frying, stewing and blending, the Apple and Celery soup came off wonderfully. I went out and bought a thermos especially. It shattered for no apparent reason en route to the fireworks. Damn you and your Law, Mr. Sod. We munched snack-sized pork pies in consolation.
The birds were coming straight for the bank a little along from us. It was lined with children...the same children who throw bread to the ducks and swans, and who run away when they come after them looking for more. It was something to watch as they streamed up towards them. A few of the ducks accelerated and took off, whirring overhead...the first cries of alarm began as a few of the swans reeled back and flapped their wings. People began to back away, opening a route from the water to the hedgerows behind, and the first webbed foot since the fireworks began was placed on dry, or at least muddy, land. The troops waddled, quacking noisily through the crowd, ducked under the hedge and were away.
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