Aces Up Part 5

The take-off of the five Spads was good, and in order. McGee noticed with considerable satisfaction that the flight commander knew his business, and the four planes under his direction followed his signaled orders with a precision that would have been creditable in any group of pilots.

"Nice work!" Red said to an American captain who seemed not at all impressed.

The captain was six feet tall, burdened by the weight of rank and the ripe old age of twenty-four or twenty-five years, and was somewhat skeptical of McGee's judgement. He wondered, vaguely, what this youthful, freckle-faced, five-foot-six Royal Flying Corps lieutenant could know about nice work. Why, he couldn't be a day over eighteen--in fact, he might be less than that. A cadet who had just won his wings, probably.

"Oh, fair," the captain admitted.

McGee, sensing what was running through the captain's mind, and having no wish to set him right, winked at Larkin and said:

"Let's go, Buzz. It isn't often that two poor ferry pilots get a twenty-four hour leave."

Later, as they were bounding cityward in a decrepit, ancient taxi driven by a bearded, grizzled Frenchman who without make-up could a.s.sume a role in a drama of pirates and freebooters, McGee said to Larkin:

"You know, Buzz, I think a lot of these American pilots are better prepared for action right now than we were when we got our wings. And we had hardly gotten ours sewed on when we were ordered to the front. These fellows will give a good account of themselves."

"I think so, too. Do you remember how the Cadets of our cla.s.s were sent up for solo in rickety old planes held together by wire, tape and chewing gum? Poor devils, they got washed out plenty fast! I've seen 'em go up when the expression on their faces told that they had forgotten everything they had learned. No wonder a lot of them took nose dives into the hangars and hung their planes on smokestacks and church steeples."

McGee frowned, remembering some of the friends who had tried for their wings and drew crosses instead. Quickly he threw off the mood with a laugh.

"Yes, and I was one of those 'poor devils' who forgot. I'll never forget _that_! I had no more right being up in that old Avro than a hog has with skates. But England needed pilots and needed them badly. I guess it was a case of 'what goes up must come down' and the government gave wings to the ones who came down alive. The others got angels'

wings."

"I suppose so. And before another month pa.s.ses the need will be greater than ever. Look what the Germans did to the British Fifth Army just last month. I'll never know what stopped 'em. But they're not through. What do you make of that long range gun that is sh.e.l.ling this very city?

"Um-m. Dunno. Seems to me that well directed reconnaissance flights should be able to locate that gun."

"Maybe; but locate it or not, its purpose is to drive war workers out of Paris, cripple the hub of supplies and make it more difficult for us to coordinate the service of supplies through here when they make their drive at Paris. It'll come within a month. Then we'll need every pilot and every ship that can get its wheels off the ground. I'm tellin'

you--a month!"

"Think so?"

"I know so! America is going to have her big chance--and may the Lord help us if she doesn't deliver! I don't know how many combat troops she has landed, but I do know that her eyes, the air service, is in need of ships. The French and English are willing to give them all the old, worn out flying coffins that they can pick up out of junk heaps--old two-seater Spads, old A.R.'s, 1-1/2 strutter Sopwiths, and crates like that. If they can get new Spads, like those we saw 'em flying this morning, or Nieuport 28's, or the Salmsons which their commander has been trying to get, then all will be jake. Otherwise--" he shrugged his shoulders expressively.

"Otherwise," McGee took advantage of the pause, "Otherwise they'll deliver just the same, even if they have to fly Avros, Caudrons or table tops. Buzz, these Americans over here have fight in their eyes. They've got spirit."

"Yes, but spirit can't do much without equipment."

"Huh! Ever read any history?"

"What's on your mind now, little teacher? I read enough to pa.s.s my exams in school."

"Then you've forgotten some things about American history, especially about spirit and equipment. Where was the equipment at Valley Forge?

What about the troops under Washington that took the breastworks at Yorktown without a single round of powder--just bayonets? What about the war of 1812, when we had no army and the English thought we had no navy?

You don't remember those--"

"That's just what I do remember," Buzz interrupted, "and that's what I'm howling about. We never have been prepared with anything except spirit.

Right now we have a lot of good pilots over here and the air service is having to beg planes from the French and English. And here we are, sent down to this front to act as instructors to a shipless squadron, at the very time when the Germans are making ready for another big drive. It's all wrong. Every minute is precious."

McGee had been looking out of the window of the swaying, lurching cab that was now threading its way through hurrying traffic. "Forget it!" he said. "Give Old Man Worry a swift kick. Here we are in Gay Paree. The war's over for twenty-four hours!"

3

To all allied soldiers on leave of absence from the front, Paris represented what McGee had voiced to Larkin--a place where the war was over for the time limits of their pa.s.ses. Forgotten, for a few brief hours, were all the memories of military tedium, the roar of guns, the mud of trenches, the flaming airplane plunging earthward out of control--all these things were banished by the stimulating thought that here was the world famous city with all its amus.e.m.e.nts, its arts, its countless beauties, open to them for a few magic hours.

The fact that Paris was only a ghost of her former self made no impression on war-weary troopers. What mattered it, to them, that the priceless art treasures of the Louvre had been removed to the safety of the southern interior? Was it their concern that the once mighty and fearless Napoleon now lay blanketed by tons of sand bags placed over his crypt to protect revered bones from enemy air raids or a chance hit by the long range gun now sh.e.l.ling the city? What mattered it that famous cafes and chefs were now reduced to the simplest of menus; what difference did it make if the streets were darkened at night; who that had never seen Paris in peace time could sense that she was a stricken city hiding her sorrow and travail behind a mask of dogged, grim determination?

Paris was Paris, to the medley of soldiers gathered there from the four points of the compa.s.s, and it was the more to her credit that she could still offer amus.e.m.e.nt to uniformed men and boys whose war-weary minds found here relief from the drive of duty.

Everywhere the streets were swarming with men in uniform--French, English, Australian, Canadian, New Zealanders, colored French Colonials, a few Russians who, following the sudden collapse of their government, were now soldiers lacking a flag, Scotch Highlanders in their gaudy kilts, j.a.panese officers in spick uniforms not yet baptized in the mud of the trenches--a varied, colorful parade of young men bent on one great common objective.

At night, the common magnet was the theatre, and the _Folies Bergeres_, featuring a humorous extravaganza, Zig Zag, in which was starred a famous English comedian, drew its full quota of fun-seeking youths.

It was this show that McGee and Larkin had come to see, and at the end of the first act they were ready to add their praises to the chorus of approval. During the intermission they strolled out into the flag bedecked foyer to mingle with a crowd that was ninety per cent military and which was in a highly appreciative frame of mind. One particularly pleasing note had been added rather unexpectedly when one of the feminine stars, in singing "Scotland Forever," had been interrupted by a group of Highlanders who boosted onto the stage a red-headed, bandy-legged, kilted Scotchman who had the voice of a nightingale. And when, somewhat abashed, he took up the refrain, he was joined by a thunderous chorus from the audience that made the listeners certain that Scotland would never die so long as such fervor remained in the hearts of her sons. The English soldiers, not to be outdone, had followed with "G.o.d Save the King" and then, down the aisle with a flag torn from the walls of the foyer stalked an American sergeant, holding aloft Old Glory and leading his countrymen in the singing of "The Star Spangled Banner."

Trust a group of soldiers to take charge of a show and run it to suit themselves. But they were pleased, beyond question, as was evidenced by the buzzing conversations during the intermission.

"Great show, eh?"

"I'll tell the world!"

"Hey, Joe! You old son-of-a-gun! How'd you get down here? Thought you were wiped out up at Wipers."

"Huh! Not me! They haven't made the sh.e.l.l that can get me. Look who's over there with a nice cushy wound to keep him out of trouble. Old Dog Face himself. Hey! Dog Face ... Come here!"

Such were the greetings of soldiers who hid their real feelings behind a mask of flippancy.

McGee drew Larkin into an eddy of the milling throng where they could the better watch what Red termed "the review of the nations." A strapping big Anzac, with a c.o.c.kily rosetted Rough Rider hat, strolled arm in arm with a French Blue Devil from the Alpine Cha.s.seurs. A kilted Highlander, three years absent from his homeland and bearing four wound stripes on his sleeve, was trying vainly to teach the words of "Scotland Forever" to a Russian officer whose precise English did not encompa.s.s the confusing Scotch burr. Mixed tongues, mixed customs, variety of ideals; infantrymen, cavalrymen, artillerymen, war pilots; men with grey at the temples and beardless youths; here and there a man on crutches, here and there an empty sleeve, and many b.r.e.a.s.t.s upon which hung medals awarded for intrepid courage; here grizzled old Frenchmen with backs bowed by three years of warfare, and there fresh, clean young Americans recently landed and a little amazed that they should be looked upon as the hope of the staggering allies. Color, color, color! Confused tongues, the buzz and babble of a thousand half-heard conversations, the fragments of marching songs! Here was a cross section of the Allied Armies, all of them with but one purpose. How could they fail!

The scene had a telling effect upon McGee and Larkin. Wordless, for a few minutes, they stood watching the throng. It was McGee who spoke first.

"Did you ever see anything like it, Buzz? Just look at the different uniforms. There--look over there! A bunch of American Blue Jackets.

Wonder how they got here?"

"Humph! Wonder how all of us got here? That's what I've been thinking about. This is just a moment s.n.a.t.c.hed from the lives of all these fellows. What went before? What homes did they come from, and who is waiting for them? And what comes to them to-morrow? Gee!" He shook his head, slowly. "It doesn't do to think about it. You want to find out about them ... and you get to wishing they could all go on back home to-morrow. Say, who started this talk, anyhow? Come on, let's go back in."

"Wait a minute!" McGee seized his arm and turned him around. "There's plenty of time before the curtain. Look, Buzz. See that black fellow over there in French Colonial O.D.? Came from Algiers, I guess, or Senegal, maybe. What brought him here, and what sort of stories will he tell ... when he gets back home? Will he tell about what he did, or will he talk about what he saw and what others did?"

"Dunno. Why?"

"Well, this has set me to thinking. We're all here on exactly the same business. The uniform doesn't count so much, nor does the branch of the service. It's just a question of getting the job done--a sort of 'Heave Ho! All together, now!' Get me?"

"Yes--I guess so. What are you driving at?"

"This. See that American sergeant over there--the one who carried the flag down the aisle and jumped up on the stage?"

"Yes. Big fellow, isn't he?"

"You said it! The biggest duck in this puddle, in more ways than one.