by Anthology
Clive had built a small plane as one of his first projects, and had gained the experience in flying necessary to pilot a larger craft. He held a private pilot’s license, and this experience was all that he needed. In the meantime he had supervised the construction, from plans he had brought with him, of a ponderous twin motored affair. He had taken it on a test flight the preceding day, and it had performed even better than he had expected. Fortunately he had established refueling bases along the route to France, and he was all ready to start the journey. He called d’Artagnan.
“My friend, how would you like to fly to Paris with me tomorrow on a dangerous mission?” Clive asked him. D’Artagnan had been up with Clive enough to have aviation in his blood.
“Monsieur Clive, there is nothing in the world I would rather do, and as you know, the more dangerous the better I shall like it.” A trip to the moon couldn’t have pleased d’Artagnan more.
“I know, Monsieur, that is why I said it would be dangerous. We must get the big plane ready tonight for the journey. We will carry about ten of the new machine guns, and as much ammunition as we can safely get off the ground with, and we shall leave tomorrow at dawn.”
The trip to Paris was uneventful for the fliers, but for the people on the ground it was somewhat of a major catastrophe. If the motorcycle trip from Amiens to Paris caused a turmoil, the flight of the giant “winged monster” caused an outright panic, in spite of the fact that Clive flew at a high altitude. His intention had been to cut his motors high over Paris and make a dead-stick landing so as to attract as little attention as possible, but by the time he had sighted the clearing in which he was going to land, the streets were filled with people who were gazing with awe upon the second visitation of Satan.
“Our friends will have their motorcycles with them, as well as the small trailers that I sent to them some time ago,” Clive said to d’Artagnan. “As soon as we land we must load these guns and ammunition into two of the trailers. In the third we will set up one of the machine guns, and you will ride in that one and cover their rear as they proceed to the Louvre. You must barricade the Louvre, and protect the life of the king at any cost. I don’t think you will have much difficulty holding off any invaders with those machine guns but you must preserve your ammunition as long as possible. I will operate from our base in Switzerland, and keep you supplied with food and ammunition until reinforcements can reach you from Bohemia. As you know, the boats are leaving this morning, and will probably require more than a week to reach France. M. de Treville’s musketeers must meet the boats at Calais, and I shall support any of his advances from the air. Of course you must be with M. de Treville to explain to him the operation of our equipment.” D’Artagnan did not speak during this recital, and when Clive had finished he saw an odd expression cross the musketeer’s face, but as they were about to land he devoted the remainder of his attention to the job of bringing the big ship in.
As they drew to a stop, three motorcycles pulled out on the field, each one pulling a trailer, and in one of the trailers crouched a fourth figure.
“It is so, Monsieur Clive, again you have done the impossible.” Anne was radiant, Clive greeted his friends warmly, but hurriedly, and silently the five men loaded the machine guns into the trailers. They completed this task just as the first of the curious onlookers pushed cautiously into the clearing.
Anne was already seated when Clive climbed in beside her at the controls. She smiled at him as he adjusted her safety belt, and he felt that never had a mortal been created so beautiful. His eyes lingered upon her features for a moment, but through the window he caught sight of the people who were beginning to mill out around the plane. He realized that soon he would be unable to take off, so he gunned his motors, which he had left idling, and at the sound of the roar the people scattered like leaves. With his lessened load Clive easily cleared the trees at the edge of the clearing. The musketeers slipped away unnoticed.
The flight to Amiens seemed much too short to Clive, he barely had time to give the queen all the instructions she would need to find his friends in America, there was no time to tell her what he had in his heart. He nearly gave in to an impulse to go through the caverns with her, but realizing that this would surely mean the loss of his plane, and with it probably the loss of his “cause,” he brushed the idea aside. Later he was to regret not obeying this impulse, but he was doing what he thought was right.
The scene at the cavern was touching. For a long moment Clive held Anne very close, to both of them it seemed goodbye forever, but they tried desperately to believe that soon they would be together again.
“It will take courage, Anne dear, to go through there alone,” said Clive. “But I know that is one of your strongest virtues.” He released her from his embrace, and then guarded the entrance to the cavern while she quickly slipped on the twentieth-century bathing suit that he had brought with him. When she was ready to start, Clive strapped a small waterproof bag to her back.
“Dry clothes for you when you reach the other end—American clothes,” he explained. He watched her step into the water and disappear into the darkness of the cavern, and again an overpowering impulse seized him and he started in to follow her, but then his mind flashed to his companions who were probably besieged in the Louvre, and depending upon him for their survival. He quickly turned back to his plane, and none too soon for peasants armed with clubs and stones were courageously challenging the “monster.”
“You arrived just in time d’Artagnan,” said Athos as the motorcycles sped toward the Louvre. “His Eminence is about to strike, and I fear the king’s life is in danger.” D’Artagnan remained silent. “I hope this new gun is as good as Monsieur Clive believes it is,” Athos continued. “We shall be greatly outnumbered.”
“It is,” d’Artagnan said tersely.
“What has come over you d’Artagnan?” asked Athos. “You act as though you aren’t at all pleased over the prospect of a good fight.”
“I shall tell you later, my dear Athos, but at the present moment it appears as though the fight you just mentioned is at hand.”
A small group of men armed with Richelieu’s new rifles had closed in behind them as they passed, and were in the process of leveling the weapons at the musketeers, when d’Artagnan removed this peril with a short burst from the machine gun he was manning.
“Mordieu!” exclaimed Athos. “What an amazing weapon!”
This occurrence was repeated twice before the musketeers reached the Louvre. To their relief they found that this palace was still being guarded by the king’s musketeers of their own company. This meant that the cardinal had not yet struck at the king, but their encounters in the streets had shown them that they were none too soon. They quickly gathered a group of musketeers around them, and d’Artagnan demonstrated the assembly and operation of the machine guns to them. He then stationed a crew with each machine gun at strategic positions about the Louvre, so that every entrance was guarded.
D’Artagnan was just placing the last gun when the staccato of a machine gun was heard in the direction of the main entrance to the Louvre. This was punctuated by sporadic rifle fire, and as d’Artagnan listened there was a burst of rifle fire almost directly below him. At the same moment the crew manning this last gun went into action, and though they were rather awkward at first, their gun was horribly efficient. Soon all ten machine guns were pounding out their grim rhythm, and the would-be attackers were dropping like grain before the reaper.
These men were dressed in a new and odd uniform that gave no hint as to the service or the command. For the most part they were raw recruits, obviously not being the hand-picked warriors of the cardinal’s guards. They threw themselves before the withering blast from the machine guns with a fervor that bordered on fanaticism, yet this wanton sacrifice accomplished nothing. Not a man got as far as the main entrance—on the contrary, there was a heap of wounded and dead soldiers completely encircling the Louvre. D’Artagnan, the young man who was alrea
dy a veteran of several major battles, who had slain any number of foes in hand-to-hand fighting, looked down at the carnage below him and felt sick inside.
The fighting was soon over, someone had sounded retreat, and the scattered remains of the attacking army disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. D’Artagnan left his post to search for his three companions, he walked as though he were in a daze, his face wearing the expression not of a conqueror, but of a person deeply troubled. He found the three musketeers at the main entrance, Athos was talking to one of the attackers who had come under a flag of truce to ask permission to remove their dead and wounded.
“By all means remove them,” said the musketeer. “You must turn all their arms over to the king’s guards, however.”
“Mordieu!” exclaimed Porthos as d’Artagnan came up, “this butchery is distasteful, even though the swine didn’t deserve to live.”
“But we must not be squeamish, my dear Porthos,” said Aramis. “After all, the king still lives, and the Louvre still stands.”
“Yes, and at what cost!” D’Artagnan remarked, as though speaking to himself. “This slaughter would have been so unnecessary, had His Eminence never heard of a rifle or a revolver.”
“But we might be dead or rotting in a cellar in Amiens, if we had not had the services of these weapons which you deprecate,” said Athos, who had just rejoined the others.
At that moment they heard the drone of Clive’s motors overhead, and looking up they saw him dip his wings as he flew low over the Louvre. The four musketeers waved their hats in greeting; and he disappeared to the east. The sound of sporadic rifle fire could be heard in the distance, proceeding from several sections of the city of Paris, indicating that the attack on the Louvre was merely a starting signal for a generalized coup.
“I am beginning to think that it would, have been better for us to have died or been trapped in America, than for half of France to die at the hands of the other half.” D’Artagnan said this with a seriousness that was strange in this carefree young warrior.
“You may be right, my dear d’Artagnan,” said Athos, “but the damage is now done, and we must do what we can to restore order, and to preserve the kingdom.”
“That is true,” replied d’Artagnan, “but if you have found these machine guns deadly, you have only seen the beginning of a series of machines and death-dealing instruments, the efficiency of which can not even be imagined. Richelieu is not so dull as to think victory over such odds would be easy—if he only knew what these odds were.”
“I am afraid this is out of the hands of His Eminence by now,” said Athos. “He has given guns to the bourgeoisie and peasants, and they have had their taste of blood, and now I fear that blood must flow if the kingdom is to be preserved. I believe the cardinal will be fighting by our side before this matter is settled.”
“If I am not mistaken,” said Aramis, “your prediction is about to be confirmed, for this appears to be His Eminence arriving now at the gateway.” A small company of horsemen, wearing the uniforms of the cardinal’s guards had just been halted by the guards at the gate. The company was led by His Eminence himself, who had fastened a flag of truce to his sword, and was weaving it impatiently in the face of the musketeer at the gate. The four musketeers cast questioning glances at each other.
“You speak with him, Athos,” said d’Artagnan. The others agreed with their young companion, so Athos turned to the man who was restraining the king’s minister:
“Allow His Eminence to enter, Monsieur,” he said, “but the others must wait there until we come to an agreement, see that they are protected.” Then to the cardinal who had wasted no time in entering once he had permission: “To what do we owe the honor of this visit, Monsignor?”
“I come to place myself under your protection, Messieurs, while I seek to undo the harm I have done to France.” The cardinal was almost humble.
“Now you’re talking, as M. Clive would say,” said d’Artagnan, who had overheard the cardinal’s speech. “Without someone like you to lead them, it should be fairly simple to put an end to this foolishness.” In his enthusiasm, the young musketeer had forgotten that he had just appointed Athos spokesman, but this turn of events had given him new life, and once again he was the carefree young warrior who had defied the most powerful man in France from his first visit to Paris.
“If you will excuse us, Monsignor, we must take the precaution of asking for your word as a gentleman that you have no intentions upon the life of the king.” Athos disregarded d’Artagnan’s interruption.
“Frankly, Monsieur, I did have earlier today, but since learning to what lengths the radicals will go when they once get the scent of blood in their nostrils, I am forced to acknowledge my error, and to do everything in my power to rectify my mistakes.” The cardinal was indeed humble. “Monsieur Clive was right, education must come first.” This last was spoken as though to himself, and then as if he were shaking off a cloak he stood at stiff attention and said: “I swear, upon my honor as a gentleman that I shall dedicate the remainder of my life to the protection of the king and to the welfare of France.”
“You have given your word as a gentleman, Monsignor,” said Athos, whose noble manner even eclipsed that of the cardinal. “We know you are indeed a gentleman, but since you admit that you had contemplated taking the life of our king we must relieve you of your weapons, and forbid you to approach the king’s quarters until this uprising is quelled, or until his Majesty shall command otherwise.”
Richelieu flushed crimson, but unbuckled the sword and revolver that hung at his side, and presented them to Athos. “And my guards, must they also disarm and remain in isolation?” he asked.
“Your Eminence’s guards are excellent fighting men, as I have had occasion to learn,” smiled Athos. “We shall need them as fighting men. And you shall not be in isolation, Monsignor, as we will undoubtedly need you to assist Monsieur Clive and Monsieur de Treville in directing military operations, since you are the only man in France who has a complete knowledge of the army.”
That night d’Artagnan made his way to the hotel of Monsieur de Treville, and found the place barricaded and under heavy guard. The musketeers had captured a supply wagon loaded with rifles and ammunition, and except for numbers were on an equal footing with the revolutionists.
The young Gascon was well known by the musketeers, and was immediately recognized and welcomed in. By the men inside he was looked upon as the bearer of good tidings, and as he passed various groups on his way to the chambers of the captain of the musketeers they fell in behind him, and followed him up the broad stairway. They thronged into Monsieur de Treville’s antechamber, and waited with bated breath for the outcome of his conference with this gentleman.
“I have been expecting you, my dear d’Artagnan,” said Treville, arising to greet him. “Perhaps you can shed some light upon what has been happening the past few hours. When the attack started we prepared to march to the Louvre to protect the king, but as we were about to leave we observed the attackers retreating, and so reasoned that you were holding strong. I then decided that it would show the better judgment to stay here until I received a message from you.”
“Which was a good thing,” said d’Artagnan. He then recounted what had occurred during the day, while the captain of the musketeers listened silently. A look of disgust crossed the face of the’ latter when d’Artagnan spoke of the surrender of the cardinal, but he said:
“You did well, whatever may be His Eminence’s faults he is a fine general. France needs him now as never before.” Both men were silent for a moment, and then Treville continued: “Has Monsieur Clive any plans that might aid us?” he asked.
“Monsieur Clive’s plans are our only hope,” said the musketeer. “Fortunately our hopes are well grounded, for if we follow his plans we cannot fail.”
“Your words are well said and encouraging,” said the captain. “What must we do to bring this about?”
“We must do two t
hings: the first, and most difficult, will be to teach the musketeers the intimate details of the operation of the military equipment that is on its way here. This will be extremely difficult because we have none of the equipment to demonstrate to them. The second thing we must do is to disguise ourselves and make our way to Calais to receive the equipment when it arrives.”
“Bravo! When shall we begin?”
“Time is short, we must begin at once.”
The days that followed immediately were somewhat of a preview of what was to happen about a century and a half later, with the exception that at least a portion of the “people” were well armed. Contrary to the expectations of the musketeers, the loss of the cardinal did not deter the revolutionists—as always occurs in any group, a leader soon appeared. So cunning was he in his strategy that by the end of the second day Paris was completely within his hands, with the exception of the Louvre, and the hotels of some of the nobility who at that date surrounded themselves with warriors. These latter had barricaded themselves within their hotels, and were, content to wait for the reinforcements that they were told they could expect. Those who were not so fortunate were promptly executed by the people who had been “born to be persecuted.” Many escaped to the country where they knew they would be safe as long as the fighting was confined to Paris, aware, however, that soon the whole kingdom would be involved in the conflagration.
As the days passed new units of the revolutionist army converged upon Paris from the provinces. This city became a nightmare of pillage and plunder, shops were looted, and food supplies that normally would have lasted for weeks were soon exhausted. When this occurred the natural course was toward the fountainhead of supply in the country.
Two weeks after the beginning of the revolution an army of the revolutionists assembled at the west gate of Paris. They were a bedraggled lot, the new uniforms that had been so impressive that first day were now grimy and torn. The fanatic gleam that had fired their eyes was now blurred by the watery sign of drunken excess. Many of them had lost the fine weapons the cardinal had given to them, and had armed themselves with what swords and muskets they could find. They were not prepared to fight a major battle, and they knew it, but as they well knew, their past deeds had so overawed the people Of France that they expected practically no opposition. Their mission was to plunder the surrounding country, to satiate the bellies that had quickly become accustomed to food and wine. The army of the revolution had degenerated into a band of plundering brigands.