I never thought a pigeon like me could make a difference. I’m Valiant—small, yes, but fast. And determined. When I saw that recruitment film at Felix’s bar, something clicked. This war isn’t just for the big and strong. It’s for anyone willing to fly.

Now, here I am—Squad F, dropped behind enemy lines in France. The message is critical: the Allies need to know the real invasion site. But Von Talon’s got it. And he’s got Bugsy.

Gutsy’s gone—crashed with the plane. Monty’s orders are clear: retrieve the message at all costs. But as we crouch in the tall grass outside the falcon’s bunker, I realize it’s not just about orders. It’s about trust. About proving that even a wood pigeon from West Nestington can be a hero.

Lofty whispers, 'We go in quiet, or we don’t go at all.'

Tailfeather cracks his neck. 'Or we punch our way through.'

I look at the bunker. At the guards. At the wind picking up.

This is it. The moment that defines us.