The Flying Cavalier

by Gilbert, Morris

  Logan spoke at length about his family, and when the conversation turned to a different subject, Danielle said, “You miss your family, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do. Quite a bit.”

  “Do you have any brothers and sisters?”

  “Only one brother, Frank. Two years younger than I am.”

  “Do you think he’ll come and join as you have?”

  “I hope not. One of us is enough, and besides, America will come into the war sooner or later.”

  The meal went off smoothly enough, and afterward, in the parlor, Danielle found herself sitting beside Logan and showing him family photographs mounted in an album. Across the room Gabby was monopolizing the attention of Lance and Jo.

  “Is this you?”

  “No,” Danielle said quickly in a whisper. “That’s my sister. You know she was killed in a Zeppelin raid. Lance is desolate. They were very much in love.”

  “What was she like? Like you?”

  “Oh no. She was much better than I am.”

  “Good you think so,” Logan grinned. He studied the picture for a time and said, “She’s a very beautiful woman. You must miss her a great deal.”

  “Lance misses her more than anyone.” She continued to speak for some time about Lance and about her dead sister, Noelle. Something in her tone and in the way she looked across the room at Lance Winslow set off a small alarm in Logan’s mind. She seems very interested in her brother-in-law, he thought. He watched as her eyes went to him again and again and wondered what it meant.

  Finally the evening came to an end, and Jo took Logan back to the hospital in her sidecar. She dropped him off and said, “Good luck tomorrow. I hope you impress the captain.”

  “So do I. It was a fine evening, wasn’t it?”

  “You and Dani seemed to hit it off. I thought you two were mortal enemies.”

  “Well, we gave each other a hard time when I first got to the hospital.” He stood beside the motorcycle on one foot looking down at her. “But she’s a fine girl.” He hesitated, then said, “I noticed that she likes Captain Winslow a great deal.”

  Jo did not answer, for she had observed the same thing and had her own ideas on the subject. “They’re a very close family. Lance is very fortunate to have them to take care of Gabby.”

  “That girl’s a sweetheart, isn’t she?”

  “They say she looks just like her mother, and she’s bright as a new penny. Well, as I said, good luck tomorrow. What do they say in the theater? ‘Break a leg’?”

  “I don’t want to break anything tomorrow. I’m going to be on my best behavior. Good night, Jo.”

  “Good night. It will be good to see Rev again.”

  “Yes, it will. I can hardly wait.”

  He turned and walked into the hospital, and Jo revved the engine of the motorcycle up and made her way back to her quarters. When she went inside, as usual, Bedford reared up on her and nearly knocked her to the floor. She got him calmed down, took a bath, and then sat for a long time propped up in bed writing. Finally she put her writing materials away and began to pray, as she usually did. She found herself praying, “Lord, I pray that you’d give Logan grace in your sight. He wants so badly to get out of the ground war and into the air, so I don’t know how to pray about these things, but I trust you to do what’s best for him.”

  ****

  “Well, here it is. We’ll just go up and try some very fundamental maneuvers.”

  “She’s a beautiful plane. Looks like a delight to fly,” Logan said.

  Logan had arrived at the airport just after dawn and had waited until Captain Winslow had approached him. The two had gone out to the airfield, and now they were standing looking at the Nieuport 17. It was painted white except for a target of blue, white, and red on the upper sections of the top wing, and the rudder had the same colors. The fixed undercarriage seemed sturdy, and for the next hour, Logan sat in the cockpit while Winslow instructed him on the peculiarities of the Nieuport. “You’ll notice that we’ve installed the steel plates on the propellers.”

  “It must have been terrible trying to stand up and fire a gun placed over the wing.”

  “It was no fun,” Winslow said. “Someday someone will invent an even better system. As for now, it gives us an edge.”

  “You like this particular machine gun, Captain?” He touched the handle of the Vickers machine gun and turned to face his instructor.

  “It’s a little bit too lightweight, I think, but better ones are coming.”

  “What do the Germans use?”

  “A Spandau. A very fine gun.”

  “But this one will do well enough. It fires very rapidly, and you won’t have any trouble with it. Are you ready now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Fine. Just follow me, and when we get up, after we’ve flown through the simple maneuvers, I’ll hold my hand up. That means I want you to follow every maneuver I make. You won’t be able to, of course, since you haven’t flown a machine this powerful, but do the best you can. I’ll be able to tell something about what kind of flier you are.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  An hour later Winslow looked with approval at the mirror he had had installed. It was something he had come up with himself. On long patrols a man was apt to get a neck ache trying to look over his shoulder constantly, and if an enemy got on your tail, one glance into the mirror was much quicker than trying to swivel your head.

  He’s really quite exceptional. I’m surprised, Lance thought. But now let’s give him something really tough.

  He held his hand up, and a glance in the mirror showed Smith nodding at him. Instantly he hauled back on the stick and sent his Nieuport into a steep climb. He had done it very quickly and was pleased to see that Smith was right with him. Good reaction time, he thought. Now, let’s see if he can follow me in a roll.

  For the next ten minutes Lance put the Nieuport through every tricky maneuver he could think of. He was shocked and pleased to find out that Logan Smith stayed with him practically all the time. He managed to lose him only twice, and that was by using techniques that he himself had perfected for losing enemy fighters.

  Finally he signaled toward the ground, and the two sailed back toward earth.

  Logan scrambled out of his plane and came over at once to stand before Winslow. “She’s a marvelous airplane, sir!”

  “Well, I’m very happy that you like her because you’ll be flying it from now on.”

  “You mean I’m accepted?”

  “There are a lot of things I don’t know about you, Smith, but one thing I know, you’re a good pilot.”

  Logan flushed. “Thank you, sir. I’ll do my very best for you.”

  “I don’t want any heroes in my squadron. You’ll take it slow and easy and learn how to fight as a team. We were talking last night about knights roaming out on adventures and taking on dragons and that sort of rot. We do not do that in my squadron. We fight as a team. You will protect your fellow fighters, and they will protect you. Get that one thing in your head. No heroes, no knightly quests.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Now, come along. You’ll meet the men that make up the Twenty-fourth Squadron.”

  The rest of the squadron was gathered in the hut that had been set apart for recreation. It was merely a large room with a few tables, chairs, and lamps. All of them were drinking, and one sat over in a corner playing a violin.

  “Knock off that violin playing, Harold. I want you to meet our new pilot. This is Logan Smith. You’ll be able to tell as soon as he opens his mouth that he’s an American.”

  The vein of humor that ran under Lance Winslow’s strict exterior surfaced then. “He comes from a family of outlaws, I understand, from the Wild West. So be careful. He’s not carrying his two guns today, as is his custom.”

  A laugh went up and at once the fliers began to give Logan a hard time. Sailor Malone came to stand before him. He had a tough face and was strongly built. “An outlaw American, eh
? Well, I always wanted to meet one. How many buffalos do you usually shoot before breakfast?”

  “Not more than I can eat at one time,” Logan grinned. He was prepared for such rough handling as this, for he had received it all of his life. He had been with men who were accustomed to facing danger for a long time now, men in the rodeo and then, of course, in the Legion. Now his eyes went around as the men introduced themselves. These would be the men in whose hands he would put his life, and they were entirely different from what he had expected.

  Cecil Lewis was sitting in a chair tilted back against the wall. He had a book in his hand, as usual, and he said, “Do you read, old boy?”

  “Words of one syllable.”

  Lewis’s eyes gleamed with humor. “I’ll read you some poetry from time to time. You Americans need some more culture.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be glad to receive whatever you have for me.”

  “Do you play the piano?” Harold Holmes asked.

  “No. I’m afraid not.”

  “Too bad. I thought we could play a duet.”

  “If you don’t lay off of that violin, I’m going to shove it in your ear, Harold! It’s the most mournful sound I ever heard!” Copper Jennings said as he came and sized up the American with a pair of knowing eyes. “How much flying experience have you had?”

  “Not enough.”

  “That’s a good answer, and it applies to some of the rest of you,” Lance said. “Now, he’ll be in your flight, Copper, so take care of him. Teach him what he needs to know.”

  As Lance left the room, he noticed that whatever other abilities his new recruit might or might not have, he had the ability to assimilate himself into a group. He seems to be a pretty tough fellow, Lance thought as he stopped outside and moved toward the headquarters building. I hope he lasts longer than some of the others did.

  ****

  “No, this is not my favorite baby. This is Helen.”

  Jo took the doll that Gabby handed her and smoothed the hair back. “She’s very pretty. She’s not your favorite?”

  “No. My favorite is Frances.”

  “Well, may I see her?”

  “Yes.” Gabby dashed across the room, opened a chest, and pulled a doll out. It was an old doll, not particularly attractive, but the child held it very carefully. “This is Frances.”

  “Oh, and she’s your favorite?”

  “Yes. My mother gave her to me when I was just a baby.” She held the plain and not so attractive doll very tightly.

  “She’s a very beautiful baby. I know you love her very much.”

  “Yes. She’s my very special baby.” She looked up and said, “Did you have dolls when you were a girl, mademoiselle?”

  “Oh yes. I suppose all girls have dolls.”

  “What were their names?”

  Jo had discovered that Gabby had an inquiring mind and wanted to know every little detail about everything, which made it easy to entertain her. Now she sat in the room that belonged to Gabby on the single bed surrounded by dolls. It brought her childhood back to her, and she smiled and reached over and passed her hand over Gabby’s shining hair. “I had a favorite doll, too, and my mother gave her to me when I was about your age.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Her name was Miss Cordelia.”

  “That’s a funny name,” Gabby giggled.

  “Yes, it is. I don’t even know where it came from now.”

  “Do you still have her?”

  “Packed away somewhere back at my parents’ house. I suppose I’ll give her to my little girl when I have one someday.”

  “Miss Cordelia. That’s a funny name. What did she look like?”

  Gabby listened intensely as Jo described her doll, and finally she said, “Could we have a tea party?”

  “Yes. Grandpère’s home. Can he come too?”

  “I think so, and maybe Aunt Dani would like to join us.”

  The tea party turned out to be quite exciting for Gabby. She was a lonely child, Jo had discovered, and to have her grandfather join in the tea party was very special for her. She asked more than once when her father would be coming back, and each time either Danielle or Doctor Laurent would give her an evasive answer.

  Somehow this troubled Jo, and when she got Danielle alone, she said, “She’s very lonely for her father.”

  “Yes. Ever since her mother died, she clings to him.”

  “He’s very busy. I don’t suppose he comes as often as he would like.”

  A shadow passed across Danielle’s face. “No. He doesn’t, but as you say, he’s very busy.”

  They went back into the tea party, and Doctor Laurent, who loved Gabby quite fiercely, was holding her on his lap. “We have decided that you are to marry Logan Smith, Dani.”

  Danielle gave her father a surprised glance and laughed. “You’re always making matches for me. Last time it was the son of that manufacturer, the one with the slick black hair.”

  “He was a nice fellow.”

  “His hair was so slick a fly would fall down and break his leg if he landed on it,” Danielle said.

  Gabby found this frightfully funny and giggled. “I’d like to see that,” she said.

  “You wouldn’t like him, Gabby,” Danielle smiled. “He was too full of himself.”

  “What does that mean? Full of himself?” Gabby asked with a puzzled expression.

  “Well,” Danielle smiled. “He was in love with himself. He couldn’t think of anyone else.”

  “In any case, I’ve decided you shall marry the cowboy. Then we can all go live on his ranch in the American West.” Doctor Laurent was feeling particularly good that day. “I could get me some woolly chaps and some high-heeled boots and a huge sombrero.”

  “Not a sombrero. A Stetson,” Jo said.

  The amiable talk went on for some time, and finally Doctor Laurent left. It had been a long day, and Gabby finally took her favorite doll, Frances, and crawled up into Danielle’s lap and listened as the two women talked.

  Jo smiled. “Your father is quite a matchmaker.”

  “Oh, he’s always saying things like that. I’m about as likely to marry the prime minister as I am Logan Smith.”

  “He’s a very fine young man and comes from a good family.”

  “He’s an American.”

  Jo was amused. “You sound like you just said he’s a criminal.”

  “Oh, I don’t mean that, but Americans are so different. I don’t mean to be insulting.”

  “Well, we think the same of you French,” Jo smiled. “But I hope you get to know Logan better. He’s very idealistic, you know.”

  “Is he? I wouldn’t have thought that. He seems so—well, so practical.”

  “Well, he’s that too. Whatever he sets out to do, he puts his whole heart into it. But he’s idealistic, too. I’ll tell you a secret.”

  “Yes?”

  “You know Lance was talking about knights and things like that and how he didn’t want his fliers to think of themselves in that way?”

  “I remember.”

  “I think sometimes Logan does think of himself that way. Sort of a flying cavalier.”

  “That is romantic. I would never have suspected it. You don’t think of men as being idealistic or romantic or artistic.”

  “Some of them aren’t, of course,” Jo shrugged. “But it’s something I’ve seen in Logan ever since I’ve known him.”

  This information seemed to interest Danielle, and the women spoke of him for some time.

  Suddenly, without warning, Gabby began to sniffle. Startled, Jo looked down and saw tears running down her face.

  “I’ll put her to bed. When she gets tired she gets upset like this. Wait for me in the parlor. I’ll be right back.”

  Jo went at once to the parlor, and ten minutes later Danielle joined her. “Is she ill?”

  “Oh no. She has these times of depression. She misses her mother so much.”

  “Your family is all she has th
en, I suppose.”

  “Yes. That is true.” Danielle’s eyes went up to one of the pictures on the mantel. It was a picture of Noelle Winslow, Lance’s deceased wife. Danielle said, “Lance loved her so much, and when he sees Gabby, he sees her.”

  “It’s very sad. You were very young when they married, I suppose.”

  Startled, Danielle looked at her. “Yes . . . yes, I was.”

  Something about Danielle’s attitude confirmed what Jo had thought, and she wondered about the relationship between the two. Finally she said, “Does she know what kind of thing he does? Flying? I mean, every time he goes up, there’s a chance he may not come back.”

  A look of pain flickered briefly in Danielle Laurent’s eyes. “She doesn’t realize what it means.” There was a silence and she bowed her head. “But I know. We all know.”

  Jo said no more, but after she left the house, she thought for a long time about the Laurent family. She knew that the lives of fliers were notoriously brief. Some of the new men, she had found out, lasted an average of no more than three or four weeks. Only experts survived this test.

  As she rode her motorcycle home, she thought of Lance being shot out of the skies by German bullets, and a grief settled on her. “He’s had so much sorrow already, and he has a daughter to care for.” Compassion filled her heart, and she knew she would not be able to set it aside.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A Cowboy in France

  To Logan Smith the aerodrome had become his universe. It was not an ornate world. It consisted primarily of crude huts and tents, and the hangars rested on the mud when the spring rains came. Everything was makeshift, and there was nothing particularly attractive about any of it.

  Logan had taken his place in the sleeping quarters, which had plenty of dogs and cats and reeked of wet, smelly clothes. The walls were furnished with relics of the war, shattered propellers, patches of enemy insignias, and group photographs of fliers, many of whom were already dead. Logan often felt a shiver when he looked at them. Men with arms around one another staring into the camera, and where were they now? Blown to bits by enemy fire, burned to a crisp, or shattered by an engine explosion.