“Well, I don’t understand that. I’m just a poor hillbilly from the hills of Arkansas.” He bit his lip cautiously, trying to phrase his thoughts. “I don’t know what nobility—knights and ladies and all that—would be interested in me for.”
Heather took his arm saying, “Come on. Take me for a walk. Forget about Lady Heather. That’s not really my title yet, anyway. Show me your airplane.”
For the next two hours, Gavin showed Heather around the aerodrome. When they came to his own ship, she insisted on getting into the cockpit. Looking at the machine guns, she asked innocently, “But wouldn’t they shoot your propeller off?”
Gavin explained how the synchronizer gear had been stolen from a crashed German aircraft, enabling the French aviators to copy the assembly that allowed bullets to go between the propeller as it turned. “I’d like to take you up for a ride,” he said. “Would you like to go?”
Heather’s eyes opened wide with surprise. “Is that permitted?”
Gavin grinned and ducked his head sheepishly. “No, it’s not. But this outfit seems to find a way to do whatever it wants to do. It’s not like the regular Air Force.” He tried hard to explain to her. “You see, all of us came from America—the Wild West, I guess you’d call it. We don’t have a lot of discipline. The captain…he tries to keep us in line enough to prevent us getting thrown out of the French Air Force, and I guess as long as Luf keeps shooting down Germans, they’ll let us stay. So I’ll have a two-seater warmed up and we’ll take a spin.”
Heather never forgot that flight. She found herself in the backseat of Gavin’s aircraft, her hair hidden under a helmet, wearing a bulky flying suit. Everyone knew what was going on, but Captain Thenault merely turned his face the other way, whispering to Thaw, “If Lady Heather gets killed, we’ll probably all be shot.”
“Aww, don’t worry about it. Gavin’s got a little sense; he won’t take her near the front,” Thaw said.
And so they flew around the countryside, now low, now high. Gavin would turn and shout something to Heather and she would shout back. He could see she was having the time of her life.
When they landed and he helped her down, he said, “You’d better get out of that flying outfit. If anybody saw you, we’d all be thrown out.”
She put her hand on his arm. “Oh, Gavin, it was such fun! How wonderful to be a flyer!” Then her eyes darkened, and she bit her lip. “But this isn’t what you do, is it? Your missions aren’t joyrides like this.” The thought troubled her, and she dropped her hand, saying briefly, “I’ll go change.”
He took her to the room where she had donned the flying gear and left her there. As he waited, he spoke to one of the mechanics about his aircraft for the next mission. He was so intense in his instructions that when the scream came—a woman’s high-pitched scream—it ran up his back as if he had been raked with a bayonet. Wheeling, he saw that Heather had come out of the dressing room and was plastered against the wall, her eyes wide with fear, her hand over her mouth.
There, right in front of her, was a lion! His ears were back, his yellowed fangs wide open, and he looked like a giant cat who had cornered a mouse.
“Whiskey!” Gavin shouted and plunged toward Heather. He dropped to one knee and put his arms around the lion, grasping the ruff of his neck in one fist. “Don’t be afraid! He’s just a pet!”
To one side, Bill Thaw was choking back his laughter.
“It’s not very funny, Bill!” Gavin snapped angrily. “It’s all right to scare some poor mechanic to death, but you ought not to treat a lady like that!”
Repentant, Thaw came at once to stand before Heather, blinking in the fading light and spreading his hands apart. “I’m sorry, Lady Spencer. But he’s just a big pussycat, wouldn’t hurt a soul.”
Heather took a deep breath and put her hand over her breast, feeling her heart slow its frantic beating. She summoned up a smile. “Well,” she said breathlessly, “he did give me quite a start, you know.”
Gavin got to his feet. “Bill got him from a zoo in Paris when he was just a month or two old. Bill’s right…Whiskey wouldn’t hurt a soul, but he scares the daylights out of people. Would you like to pet him?”
Heather looked at the huge cub that was now yawning, exposing a mouthful of pointed teeth. “Thank you, no. I believe I’ll stick to my cat at home.”
“Here, let me take him.” Thaw picked up the lion as if he weighed two pounds and carried him off, chastising him. “You shoulda known better than to scare a lady like that.…”
Gavin was embarrassed by the whole thing. “I’m sorry. But Bill thinks it’s funny. Are you all right?”
Heather had regained her sense of proportion now and, to Gavin’s surprise, giggled slightly. “Yes, I’m all right. And it was funny,” she said. “Wait’ll I tell Father. He’ll love it.” She hesitated and asked, “Do you think it would be all right if I brought my parents sometime to visit? Father, especially, would love to see all of this.”
“I don’t see why not. Everybody else comes. There’s practically no security at all on this base.” He grinned. “Well, what shall we do now? No more flights for you today. How about mess with all the flyers? Think you could take that?”
Heather was a good sport and, of all the meals the flyers ate in that mess hall, it was that one that stuck in their minds. April had been a bad month. They had lost many friends to German guns. Later that night, when dinner was over and the humor had turned to seriousness, Kevin Rockwell brought up the fact that they were losing men more quickly than they could be replaced. “Most of it can be blamed on von Richthofen,” he said glumly. “That fellow is becoming a real pest.”
Prince said, “I’d like to get him one-on-one somewhere. I think I can take him.”
“From what I hear he’s quite a scavenger,” Thaw said thoughtfully. “It’s said that he lays back and lets his flag go in until somebody gets in trouble. Then he goes in for the kill. Got no respect for a bird like that!”
“Pay no attention to dat,” Luf said suddenly. “I have seen dis man. He is a killer and de best flyer dose fellows have.” He paused solemnly, looking around the group. “Never get yourselfs involved wid him one-on-one.” He smiled slightly and added, “Leave dat to me. I vill take care of him…dot Red Baron!”
The talk ran around the table, and Heather listened quietly, saying little. After the meal she and Gavin went for a walk. The stars shone brightly in a clear sky. A full moon rode high in the sky, and a soft April breeze touched Heather’s cheeks, blowing the tendrils of hair about her face. They strolled around the airfield, and she noticed that Gavin was intensely aware of her—but was just as aware of the sounds of aircraft that came occasionally.
Gavin couldn’t help but remain aware of Heather. She was wearing a scent that was somehow elusive, almost impossible to identify, and yet it was there, very mild, very sweet…and very feminine. By the light of the full moon he admired the brightness of her eyes and the smoothness of her cheeks and once again found himself wondering what there was about this woman that made her so different from all others he had met.
“Tell me about your family,” Heather said. “I’m fascinated by them. Do you want to go back to the farm when the war is over?”
“I guess not.” He shrugged. “It was a good place to grow up, for the most part, but I want to fly for the rest of my life.” He looked up, hearing the sound of an airplane limping back to base. “One of ours,” he said, then turned his attention back to her. “I’ve told you about all my family, I guess.” He hesitated. “Except for my sister Lylah. She’s…she’s…an actress.”
Heather laughed. “You say that like you might say, ‘She’s an ax murderer.’ There’s nothing wrong with being an actress, Gavin, is there?”
“No, I guess not.” They walked on, their steps making little noise against the bare earth. Then he spoke even more hesitantly. “I never told anybody this…but she’s in love with a German.”
Heather waited for a few moments
, then said with gentle understanding, “I’m sorry about that. It makes for a bad situation, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does. And what makes it even worse, he’s…” Gavin was about to mention von Richthofen’s name, but something held him back and he only said, “He’s a flyer. Like I am.”
Heather grasped the situation immediately. “Oh, how terrible! For your sister, I mean. She loves both of you, and one day you two may meet. That is a terrible, terrible thing! I’ll pray for her. And for you, too, of course,” she added.
“And for him too? The German?” Gavin demanded. “How could you pray for him? How can you pray for any of those people over there? They’re the ones who started this war.”
“I can’t explain that, Gavin,” Heather said softly. She looked up at the bright April moon and tried to put into words the struggle that had been hers, as it was his now. “I can’t hate the Germans. I think, really, they’re just like us except for very bad leadership. If I were a German girl, I’d probably have been exactly like they are. You know, the German soldiers go into battle with ‘Gott Mit Uns’ on their belt buckles, which means ‘God With Us.’ They think they’re doing God’s will just as we do.”
She stopped walking and turned to face him, putting her hand lightly on his chest. “I do know one thing. The Germans are God’s creation. And anything God created is worth something. So I will pray for him just as I pray for you, Gavin.”
As he stood there for a moment, he had an impulse that he could not resist. “Would you mind if I kissed you?”
Her lips turned upward, and she asked, “If I were an American girl, would you ask? Or would you just do it?”
Gavin saw the light of humor in her eyes and without further hesitation reached out, took her in his arms and held her very gently. There was no roughness in him, and she marveled at this, for she had heard the other nurses talk about soldiers and their needs. But he held her as if she were a piece of fragile china and slowly lowered his head until his lips were on hers. Still, though there was hunger in the caress, there was a lightness and a gentleness that amazed her. She had been kissed before, but not like this. She held to him lightly and returned the kiss. When he stepped back, she said, “That was a nice kiss.”
“I guess I don’t know what I feel. I–I don’t understand you. You’re different from anyone I’ve ever known, any other woman.”
“Well, don’t think too much of this. You’re a long way from home and from all of the girlfriends you had there. And I’m here.”
Gavin took her arm and turned her back toward the base. “I don’t think that’s it, Heather.”
Heather’s visit at the aerodrome was a complete success. She had become the sweetheart of the Lafayette Escadrille in short order, although several of the men had been a little put off by her unusual questions, such as, “Have you ever been born again?” However, she was always cheerful, never pressured them, and was quick to learn their interests and provide a sisterly shoulder to lean on.
On the third day, she got up early, dressed, and went to meet the men in the mess hall.
They all rose when she arrived, and Thaw pulled a chair out for her. “We have to leave early, Lady Spencer. We have a little business to take care of.”
Heather looked across the table at Gavin and saw the watchfulness in his eyes. “A mission today?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing to worry about,” Gavin said quickly. “Just a little routine flight.”
Something about the way he answered her bothered Heather, and after breakfast she sought out Captain Thenault. “May I ask what sort of mission this is, Captain?”
Thenault made a dismissing gesture. “No more dangerous than usual. But…no less either, I suppose. Every time these lads go up, they stand a chance of running into the Germans. But I think it’ll be all right.”
Heather watched later as the flyers took off—six of them, including Gavin—and for some reason she could not fathom, was uneasy. Although she was scheduled to leave at noon, she decided to wait until the flyers returned from the mission. Long after the six planes had disappeared over the blue horizon, she continued to peer into the sky. Then, pacing the field aimlessly, she found herself wondering what it was about this young man, Gavin Stuart, that so drew her. At length she said to herself, He’s just a fine young man. That’s all there is to it. There couldn’t be anything else.
Gavin forced all thoughts of Heather out of his mind and followed as Thaw led the flight. By eight o’clock, they were on the other side of the line. It was a clear morning, except that the sun’s glow from the east held the promise of hot weather.
He had been keeping a very keen lookout. So had Thaw, up ahead, and both of them saw the fighters at the same time. Thaw waved them into close formation, but not before the fighters slipped in among them, beginning to shoot as they flew by. What had been a nice neat formation, with all the planes in the inverted “V,” broke up into a wild melee.
Suddenly Gavin saw a red triplane flash by him, and before he could think, the triplane had flipped over in an incredibly short turning space and was on his tail. He had heard about this plane—an imitation of a Sopwith triplane—but much more maneuverable. It was not particularly fast, but he had heard it could turn on a dime and now he had proof of it.
Immediately Gavin threw his plane into a sideslip, having learned that usually he could get away from his pursuers in the Pup that he flew. But this time it did not happen. He made a steep turn, expecting to lose his pursuer, and suddenly found out that he could not. He did get one quick look at the plane as they whirled and the thought came to him instantly: That’s von Richthofen! He flies an all-red plane!
Suddenly the report of machine guns cracked in his ears, and he realized that this was no ordinary pilot behind him. He couldn’t shake the killer loose.
Holding the stick between his knees, Gavin threw his plane all across the sky, but to no avail. He was at the mercy of the red aircraft behind him, and he suspected there would be no quarter. Slug after slug crashed around his head and into his instrument panel. He felt a tug at his right arm and saw that the fabric of his flying suit had been ripped by one of the bullets. Before he could turn, there was a pinging sound as a bullet severed the metal aileron control on the right side, a foot from his head. Aileron flopping, half out of control, the plane started to spin. Gavin fought it with everything he had, but nothing he did could pull the plane out. He had thought, many times, of what he would do if his plane lost control and was about to crash. Some had said it would be better to jump, hopefully landing in a tree or a stream, than to risk burning to death or crashing directly into the ground.
Glancing back he saw the red triplane still hard behind him and, even as he turned, the sparkle of von Richthofen’s guns twinkled and the tracers punched holes in his left wing. I’m not going to jump, Gavin thought grimly. If I go out, it’ll be in my plane.
The plane hurtled toward the ground, and Gavin heard more machine gun fire. But this time it was Bill Thaw, who had found the red triplane in his sights and was sending a stream of tracers toward it. The red airplane broke away, flipped over, and slipped past Thaw’s slower aircraft.
Oh, God! Please get me out of this! Gavin prayed as the earth rushed up to meet him. Desperately he yanked on the controls. Then, with only a few hundred feet separating him from the ground, he came out of the stall, pulled the nose of the aircraft upward, and had just enough time to pick out a fairly level spot on the field below.
He landed roughly, breaking the undercarriage and hitting a shellhole that flipped the airplane over completely. This maneuver succeeded in demolishing the aircraft. But Gavin himself was miraculously unhurt.
Still, with the noxious fumes in the air, he knew what could happen. Flames could envelop the fragile piece of wood and fabric instantly. Desperately Gavin scrambled out of the airplane and jumped, falling to the ground and scrabbling along. Getting to his feet at last, he ran perhaps fifty yards before he felt the whoosh and the heat a
nd the sound struck him, knocking him back off his feet. He looked back to see the fireball that had been his airplane. Shielding his eyes, he climbed to his feet and staggered away.
He had not gone more than twenty yards, however, when he heard a voice calling, “Halt!”
Gavin stopped immediately and whirled to see a squad of German soldiers forming a semicircle behind him, each of them pointing a rifle in his direction. Instantly he threw up his hands. “I surrender!”
Evidently the German sergeant understood him. He came at once and searched Gavin for weapons, then nodded in satisfaction. “Come mit uns!” he commanded.
Gavin followed across the broken field. He looked up as he walked along, seeing the dogfight still in progress. Just before reaching the trench, he saw the Americans retreat for home and was relieved to count five aircraft.
Well, they only got me, Gavin thought. The rest of the fellas have gotten away. He stepped down into the trench and for the next few hours was kept in a respectably clean bunker, no worse than he had seen on their own side. He was given something to eat and was interrogated by a Lieutenant of Artillery, informing him that he must state his name and the airfield from which he had flown. The men gathering around seemed friendly enough, but he realized that if he had been an artillerist and had been bombing and shelling them for days, they might not have been so kindly disposed toward him.
Looking up, Gavin was surprised to see a man wearing the uniform of the German Flying Service enter the room. He was a rather short man with a pale face and bright eyes peering out from beneath the bill of his officer’s cap. Gavin stood up at once.
“What is your name?” the officer asked.
“Lieutenant Gavin Stuart.”
Instantly he saw something in the German’s eyes change. The officer stood there watching him, Gavin wondering why his name should have been so significant, and the German said, “I am Baron Manfred von Richthofen.”
Time seemed to stand still for Gavin. He studied the erect form of his enemy, and suddenly the two men seemed to be alone in the universe. A silence, thick and palpable, descended on the room. Each man stood there, filled with his own thoughts, waiting for the other to speak. Both of them were thinking of the same woman—Lylah Stuart. One thought as a brother, the other as a lover.
Hope Takes Flight Page 16