1

Three nights later, while members of the squadron were engaged in the usual after mess gab fest, an orderly entered with a summons for McGee and Larkin to report to Major Cowan. Larkin had just that day secured a misfitting regulation issue uniform from the Supply Officer, Robinson, and the group had been having a great deal of fun at his expense. Yancey now saw another chance.

“Old Fuss Budget is goin’ to have you shot for impersonatin’ an officer in that scarecrow riggin’,” he taunted. “You should have kept your old uniform on, like McGee.”

“Huh! Robinson didn’t have one small enough for McGee,” Larkin retorted. “They only have men’s sizes in the American Army. What’s wrong with this uniform?”

“Uniform?” Yancey repeated. “Oh, I thought it was a horse blanket.”

Larkin thumbed his nose at Yancey as he passed through the door with McGee. He knew the Major 158would have a long wait if he stayed to get ahead of Yancey.

Major Cowan appeared to be in an unusually happy frame of mind.

“I’ve good news for you,” he announced as they entered the headquarters hut. “In losing Carpenter, McWilliams and Rodd, we have gained you two. And instead of the bawling out I expected, I was congratulated for unusual foresight. The order assigning you to this squadron will be down to-morrow. I hope you are as well pleased as I am.”

“Of course we are,” McGee answered for both. “We wouldn’t feel so much at home anywhere else. I’m sorry, of course, to come as a replacement for any one of those other chaps. They were fine fellows.”

“Of course,” Cowan responded, heartily. “Their loss demonstrates the value of experience. There was no reason at all for the collision between Carpenter and McWilliams. They simply forgot there was anyone else in the air. A tough break.”

“Any break is a tough one when you don’t come back,” Larkin said.

The Major seemed to see him now for the first time. “Where in creation did you get that gunny sack you’re wearing?” he demanded.

Larkin grinned, foolishly. “From Lieutenant Robinson, sir.”

159“What’s it supposed to be?”

“A uniform, sir.”

“Thanks. I didn’t know.” He turned to McGee, who still wore his British uniform. “Didn’t Robinson have any more masquerade costumes?”

“Not my size, sir.”

“Oh, you go in for size? I see Larkin doesn’t. Why don’t you get uniforms?”

“We haven’t had a chance, sir,” Larkin answered. “There is no tailor around here, so I chinned Robinson out of this enlisted man’s issue. Perhaps,” he offered, smiling, “the Major will give us a pass to Paris to have uniforms made.”

“The Major will not! We’ve some real work ahead. But–”

The door opened and Siddons entered.

“But don’t put that thing back on in the morning,” Cowan completed. “Your British uniform is at least presentable.”

“You sent for me, sir?” Siddons spoke from the doorway, his voice having the quality of one who is extremely bored–especially bored with being sent for.

“I did.” Cowan’s voice was crisp. The ends of his moustache began twitching jerkily. “I suppose you wonder why I have said nothing to you about your failure to rejoin the squadron the other day after you cut out at Vitry?”

160“Why, no sir,” Siddons responded, perfectly at ease. “You said that if any of us developed trouble that delayed us, to come on here at the earliest possible moment. I was here when you arrived.”

“So you were.” Cowan was making a stern effort to control his temper. “And it is true that I gave you orders to come on here should delaying trouble develop. But,” he shot a quick, silencing look at McGee, “I conducted a little investigation into your landing at Vitry, Lieutenant, and I discovered that you took off again within an hour.”

Siddons started, almost imperceptibly. His face colored, for a moment, but he quickly assumed his habitual nonchalance. It goaded Cowan to an inward fury, but he controlled himself well.

“I suppose you can think of some reason why I shouldn’t ground you,” Cowan said.

“Why, no sir. No reason at all.”

“Then I can!” the Major snapped. “You like joy-riding, eh? Like to tour France, eh? Very well, I’m going to give you a bit of it to do.”

He turned and walked over to a large wall map. “Take a look at this–all three of you,” he said. “This is a detailed map of our sector. G2 believes that the Germans are planning to strike north of here, perhaps just south of Soissons. One of their reasons for this suspicion is that information has reached G2 to the effect that Count von Herzmann’s Circus has 161pulled out from Roncheres. Where is he now? That’s the question! The Intelligence sharks at Great Headquarters believe that if we can locate his new base we will know something more about the plans of the enemy. As a result, every squadron along this front has been ordered to make an effort to locate his new position. Personally, I am of the opinion that Larkin winged him the other morning, and as a result his Circus has been withdrawn, pending his recovery.”

Larkin shook his head regretfully. “I wish I could think so, Major. I’d like to boast that I had given von Herzmann a little lead poisoning. But I don’t think so. The tracers showed that my burst was going into his motor. I winged that, all right, but he didn’t fly like a wounded man.”

“Modest enough,” Cowan approved. “It seems that G2 thinks the same thing. They have reason to believe that he is in the neighborhood of this point here,”–he put a finger on the map–“where the railroad between Soissons and Chateau-Thierry crosses the Ourcq.”

He turned now directly to Siddons, his eyes cold and piercing. “Lieutenant Siddons, you seem to be a most excellent map flyer. You find your way here alone, and you tour this part of France with admirable ease. To-morrow morning, if the visibility is good, you will take off at dawn, cross the line above Bouresches, push on toward Bonnes and as far inland 162as the railroad crossing on the Ourcq–if possible. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly, sir.” Siddons was as unconcerned and unruffled as though he had received an order to fly to Paris.

“You will get the greatest possible altitude before crossing the line, and you are to avoid combat. Your mission is to bring us information, if possible, concerning the location of enemy ’dromes–and especially von Herzmann’s base. Am I clear?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

One could not but admire the cool confidence of the fellow. His complacency was not what Cowan had expected.

“If you think the risk is too great, alone,” Cowan said, after watching his face for any hint of quailing, “I will send two other planes with you. They might help reduce the odds in case of unavoidable combat.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Siddons replied. “In fact, one plane has a better chance to escape combat, especially if there are some clouds to duck into. Anything else, sir?”

Cowan made a clicking sound with his tongue. The fellow wasn’t human; he was an iceberg!

“That is all. And I wish you luck.”

“Thank you, Major. And thanks for the mission.” He gave McGee and Larkin the pitying look of one who has just drawn the grand prize in an open competition, 163and without another word turned quickly and passed through the door.

Cowan’s face had a baffled look. “Well,” he finally said, “he acts like a gamecock, anyhow.”

“Do you realize the danger of the mission?” McGee asked.

“It’s not for me to consider that angle,” the Major replied. “G2 wants information, and I am under orders to help supply it. Danger? Yes. That’s war. If we lose–well, I’d rather not discuss it.”

At that moment the door opened. There, framed against the night, stood Nathan Rodd! In salute he brought a gauze-wrapped hand to his head, a head so thickly swathed in bandages that only his face was showing and his service cap sat perched at a ridiculous angle.

“Lieutenant Rodd reports for duty, sir,” he said.

Cowan, McGee and Larkin had stood transfixed, as men might who thought they were seeing a ghost. But Rodd’s words, concise and strikingly characteristic of the taciturn Vermonter, snapped them into action. This was no ghost!

“Rodd!” Major Cowan exclaimed, and rushed across the room to grip Rodd’s unbandaged left hand. “You here?”

Rodd considered it unnecessary to waste words on so stupid a question. He merely offered his hand, when the Major released it, to McGee and Larkin, 164who were pounding him on the back in great glee.

“We thought you were dead,” Cowan said.

“So did I–until I woke up,” Rodd answered.

Cowan, noting the pallor of his face, pressed him into a chair. “Tell us about it,” he urged. “Were you badly hurt? What happened? Didn’t you crack up–”

Rodd lifted his good hand in protest. “One question at a time, Major. That German found my motor and it conked. I regained control just in time to level off, but not in time to miss a tree. After that I don’t know what happened. Came to, flat on my back, fifty feet away from my plane. It was burning. That’s all there is to it.”

“All there is to it!” Cowan snorted. “You’re not sending a telegram. Words won’t cost you anything. Where have you been since then?”

“Hospital. Waiting for a chance to skip out.”

“You mean–you ran away from the hospital?”

Rodd nodded.

“You are crazy, man! Why did you leave?”

“I don’t like hospitals.”

“But you are hurt! Is your head badly injured?”

“Cut.”

“And your hand?”

“Cut.”

Cowan could not escape laughing. McGee and Larkin joined in.

165“I’m not laughing at your injury, Lieutenant,” Cowan explained, “but at your way of telling it. If that should happen to Yancey he’d write a book about it. Of course, I’m delighted to see you alive. I had the good fortune to wipe out the one that shot you down. He went down spinning.”

“See him crash?” Rodd asked.

“No. Things were pretty thick. I didn’t have time to watch.”

“Didn’t kill him,” Rodd announced.

“What!”

“He made a better landing than I did. He was trying to bring me to when some Frenchies came running up and nabbed him. Decent fellow. The Frenchies treated him pretty rough. Put the screws to him, I guess.”

“See here,” Cowan leaned forward in his chair, “either tell all this story, or back you go to the hospital. You say the French questioned him?”

“French Intelligence did. Pretty game fellow, they said.”

“But he talked?”

“Had to. That was von Herzmann’s Circus.”

“We know that. Anything else?”

“Yes. He said they knew all about our plans, and were out gunning for us.”

Cowan’s face colored, but with confusion more than anger.

166“Anything else?” he asked crisply.

“Well–the Frogs found out something else, but,” he cast a quick, furtive glance at McGee and Larkin, “but I guess I’ve talked enough. Someone is talking too much, that’s certain.”

Cowan had seen the glance, and the inference irritated him. “These officers have proved their loyalty by service, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir,” was Rodd’s meatless reply.

McGee felt genuinely hurt, but at the same time he recognized the fact that Rodd’s statement was all too true.

“Rodd is quite right, Major,” he said, and arose from his chair. “If he has any real information, it belongs to you alone–or to G2. If you’ve nothing further, Larkin and I will be going.”

“No, nothing further.”

“No orders for to-morrow morning?”

“No.”

“May I speak to you a moment–privately?”

“Certainly.”

They moved over near the door.

“You gave Siddons a mission I would like to have, Major. Any objections if I take a little joy-ride in the morning?”

Cowan’s eyes narrowed. “Where?” he asked.

“Over the lines. I’d like to do a little looking for myself.”

167“With Larkin?”

“No, sir. Alone. Don’t even want Larkin to know I’m going. I think I know where to locate von Herzmann’s Circus.”

“What are you driving at, Lieutenant?”

“Major, if I told you half of what I think I know, you’d call me crazy.”

“Hm-m! Well, I can’t give you permission to go–but I will not be looking for you before noon.” His sly wink told Red all that he wanted to know.

“Yes, sir. Good night, Major. Good night, Rodd. The gang will be mighty glad to see you back, old hoss! Come on, Buzz, let’s go to bed.”

Outside the door Larkin’s fuming rage exploded. “Say, what did that tongue-tied sap Rodd mean by that dirty dig? If his head wasn’t already in a sling, I’d–”

“Calm yourself, brother!” Red laughed. “If you had landed on your head from as high a point as he did, and then found out it was all brought about through a leak, you’d be suspicious of everyone too.”

“Maybe so,” Larkin answered, somewhat mollified. “What were you buzzing old Fuss Budget about?”

“I’ll tell you that to-morrow night–maybe.”

“Humph!” Larkin snorted. “I guess Rodd’s disease is catching. You’re tongue-tied too!”

Without reply Red led the way across the flying 168field to their hut. Entering, he began fumbling around in the dark for a candle stub. Larkin took up the search, by the aid of flickering matches, but the candle was nowhere to be found.

“It’s a fine war!” Larkin growled, as he began undressing in the dark. “All the letters from the States bear the postmark, ‘Food Will Win The War.’ I guess the Army is trying to save on candles, too.”

2

Before sunup the following morning McGee awoke and began quietly dressing. He did not want to awaken Larkin. When he had finished dressing he tiptoed cautiously across the floor, opened the creaking door ever so slowly and closed it with the same care.

Dawn was just streaking the east. A few birds were offering their first roundelays; the grass and trees were wet with a light rain that had fallen during the night, and to the northeast the distant guns were rumbling their morning song of hate–evil dispositioned giants, guttural in their wrath when dawn awoke them to a new day of devastation. Two or three sleepy-eyed air mechanics were making their way toward the hangars.

McGee stood for a moment outside the hut, studying the sky, which was a patchwork of clouds scattered 169across grey splotches that would turn to blue with the coming of the sun. Evidently the sky had been quite overcast during the night, but the clouds were broken now, though by no means dispersed.

It was an ideal morning for crossing the lines. Convenient cloud banks were excellent havens in case of surprise, and Archie fire was less accurate when the gunners had to contend with a ship that plunged into concealing clouds and out again at the most unexpected places. Of course, those same clouds offered concealment for enemy planes, but a pilot crossing the lines alone is considerably advantaged by such a sky as McGee was now studying approvingly.

As McGee started toward the hangars he saw that some of the ground crew were wheeling out Siddons’ Nieuport. Well, the Major had stuck to his resolution and the order had gone through.

“Where’s Lieutenant Siddons going?” McGee asked the Ack Emma who was making a careful check of the plane.

“Don’t know, sir. Got orders last night to have her ready.”

“Did Sergeant Williams get orders for my plane?”

“Yes, sir. Are you and Siddons goin’ over on patrol, Lieutenant?”

“I can’t answer for Siddons,” McGee evaded. “You’d better ask him.”

“Huh! A lot of good it would do. Honest, Lieutenant, 170that fellow talks less to us than a cigar store Indian talks to the customers–and that’s less than nothin’. He thinks we’re worms!”

McGee was about to offer his sympathies when another crew, under Sergeant Williams, came rolling the Camel out to the line. McGee began checking it over with the same minute care which had doubtless gone a long way toward making him an ace. He left inspection to no man. His air mechanic, knowing this, was equally careful in his work. This diminutive lieutenant was as mild as an April morning so long as all was well, but when something went wrong he could say more than a six foot Major-General.

“All set, Sergeant?” McGee asked, finishing his inspection.