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To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [181]

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plane jerked up, the landing gear ripping out of the wing of the plane beneath him. The two planes were apart now, and the shouts began again, Maison-Rouge turning, dropping quickly, the fabric on the plane’s wing flapping wildly. He brought the SPAD down with a hard bounce, and the men cheered, began to move forward, but stopped, held back by the approach of the rest of the patrol. They came in one by one, each one revving up close to the hangar, then abruptly shutting down their motors. Now Campbell came in, seemed to hover over the length of the field, then revved again, was up, another circle around the landing area, one low swoop above the hangar, the final act of his show. The men were gathering around Maison-Rouge, and Lufbery saw him climbing out of the SPAD, screaming something in French, his goggles off, his face ghostly white. Campbell was coming in low again, brought the SPAD down this time, taxied farther out from the hangar, shut down his motor. He seemed to take his time and Thenault shouted out, “Everyone. Stand back!”

He moved in a slow deliberate march toward Campbell’s plane, and Lufbery felt his own pulsing anger, looked again at the lieutenant, Maison-Rouge, sitting on the ground, his hands shaking in a pathetic quiver. Thenault reached Campbell’s plane and was speaking to him, but Lufbery could hear nothing; there was no volume to Thenault’s words. Campbell climbed down from his plane, responding to Thenault with a wide beaming smile. As he hit the ground, Thenault had Campbell by the arm, seemed to escort him away, the two men moving together out past the hangar. Campbell turned, waved back toward all of them, gleefully ignoring Thenault’s lecture. They were past the hangar now, out of sight, and Lufbery felt his insides twisting up, half expected to hear a gunshot from beyond the hangar, thought, If it was me, I’d break his bones first. Then I’d shoot him.

IF THERE HAD BEEN ONE FAINT GLOW OF A SILVER LINING TO COURTNEY Campbell’s terrifying harassment of Lieutenant Maison-Rouge, it came quickly. Within a few days, Maison-Rouge’s nervous tics and short-tempered disagreements with the Americans gave way to a complete inability to face the stress of flying into combat. Thenault ordered the man to begin a recuperative leave, and until a replacement was named, the escadrille would again be without a second in command.

It infuriated Lufbery that Campbell was allowed to continue flying, and the word had passed through the squadron that Thenault’s hands had been tied; the captain was powerless to discipline the man beyond the usual stern lecture. To the dismay of Lufbery and everyone in the squadron, Campbell’s exploits and near-death adventures had made him something of a celebrated hero in America, the man putting a smiling boyish face on the growing legend of the Lafayette Escadrille. Though his family was wealthy, Lufbery realized that there was more than financial influence at work here. In the battle that was raging through the War Department, men with the high visibility of Courtney Campbell could be an asset to the efforts being made to gain legitimacy for the American pilots. Lufbery swallowed the reality like a lump of hard clay, and could respond only by refusing to fly with the man. But Lufbery’s impatience was not tested for long. Not long after Campbell had terrorized Maison-Rouge, the jester’s luck finally ran out.

The word had come back to the squadron from Henry Jones, a young Pennsylvanian who had gone out with Campbell on a two-man patrol. Jones’ SPAD had already taken a beating, his plane badly damaged by their confrontation with a formation of two-seaters. As Jones limped away from the fight, Campbell chose instead to lunge into the fray. Within seconds, Jones had seen Campbell’s SPAD swirling downward in a hail of bullets from the German guns. There was no word yet of the exact whereabouts of Campbell’s plane, the only certainty was that he had gone down far into German territory. Unless the Germans were cooperative, there would be no recovery of the wild man’s remains. Lufbery

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