To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [163]
“DAMMIT, LUF, THERE’S GOTTA BE A BETTER WAY!”
Lufbery had heard it before, shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me.”
“Well, hell, it bothers me!” Thaw wore a hard frown, was pacing in short quick steps. The parlor was narrow, and Thaw was forced to move in tight circles, glaring frequently at Lufbery, who sat in a plush velvet-covered chair.
Parsons sat across from him, frowning as well, and he said, “I agree. Maybe we can convince Thenault to fly over there with a truce flag. Make some sort of deal. Hey, Boche, we’ll be honest with you if you do the same. No secrets. Try to be gentlemen about this.”
Lufbery had seen Thaw go through this exercise before, knew what was coming.
Thaw stopped pacing, stared at him, pointed a thick finger. “It’s your own damned fault. If you’d stay on this side of the lines, those bastards would fall where we can find ’em. Luf, sometimes you can be one seriously dumb son of a bitch.”
Lufbery knew to let Thaw have his say, saw the man’s energy wavering. Lufbery said, “Bill, I fly on the German side because that’s where the Germans fly. I have to keep the sun to my back. The only way I can fly on this side of the line is if the Boche decide to change places with us. Don’t think they’ll agree to that.”
Thaw stared at him, put his hands up on either side of his face, seemed to hold his head in place, leaned over close to Lufbery. “Then, why don’t you wait until the afternoon? The sun will change position for you!”
Lufbery shrugged again. “I’d rather fly in the morning.”
Thaw let his hands drop to his side, turned away, said to Parsons, “I quit. The dumb bastard won’t play by the rules. He doesn’t understand that there’s no point in going out and being a hero if nobody finds out about it. How we gonna win this war if nobody knows we’re winning? This brick head has shot down more damned Boche than the rest of us combined, and headquarters just throws up its hands, and says, Well, hell, if the Boche don’t fall over here, they don’t count.”
He glared at Lufbery again, and Lufbery said, “Just let it go, Bill.”
Thaw shook his head, and Lufbery knew the routine, that Thaw’s explosion would exhaust itself, and the only conclusion would be a round of drinks. Lufbery sat back, absorbed the humor of the playful argument, knew it could go on all night long.
JULY 5, 1917
Thenault waited for the men to quiet, and Lufbery looked at the other officer, a much older man, in a uniform he had not seen for a long time. It was American.
“Gentlemen, if you please. I should introduce to you Major Mitchell. He requested to speak to you.”
The man stepped forward, scanned the faces, said, “Billy Mitchell. I am honored to make your acquaintance. I am here under the authority of General John J. Pershing, commander, the American Expeditionary Force. I have been given the responsibility by the general for organizing and training an American Air Service, under the direct command of Brigadier General William Kenly. We hope to have this vital part of the AEF fully operational six months from today. I am here because I have been able to convince General Kenly and General Pershing that you men represent the finest spirit of American aviation. Allow me to state plainly that the American people feel you to be heroes, in every positive sense of that word. I believe you and other Americans like you, who have distinguished themselves in service to the French and English air services, can assist me by becoming the core of our training program. We require both seasoned flyers and competent instructors. I know your records. You have given a great deal to the defeat of our common enemy. I am hoping you men will agree that your first duty is to your own flag.”
Mitchell seemed to exhaust himself, stopped, looked around the room. Thenault said, “I have nothing to add, gentlemen.