To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [203]
“Who . . . the lions?”
Thenault nodded, still smiling. “When you go out to the hangar, look at your lions. Especially the male, Whiskey. He is growing quickly, is very strong now, maybe too strong. He has no idea how badly he can hurt you. He is still a child, full of energy, full of . . . adventure. But to others, the visitors who come here, he is terrifying, a mighty beast.”
Lufbery smiled himself now, thought, This isn’t about a lion cub at all. He said, “Are you trying to tell me that this is what America is to you? I have heard that before, that America is some large clumsy beast who is just now coming out of her slumber. I’m sorry, Captain, but all I’ve seen is delay and incompetence. Most of the officers who are taking charge of the Air Service have never flown an aeroplane. They are no more than clerks with too much power.”
“Very young clerks, Mr. Lufbery. A very young army. Like your lion cub, you do not yet know how much power you have, or the proper way to use it. But you will learn. General Pershing seems to be a man who is determined to succeed. He has already shown us he will not tolerate . . . how would you describe it? Idiocy? Men like that know that they must first find the right people who perform as they do. He has already promoted Mr. Mitchell, for example. Mr. Lufbery, I believe that men of excellence deserve a special place in history. But they are not born to it. It comes slowly, often with a great deal of frustration. History will record that General Pétain saved the French army, ended the mutiny that could have lost this war. But in 1914, he was only a colonel.” He paused. “In 1914, Mr. Lufbery, you were a mechanic. Now . . . well, I will not embarrass you. You are not a man who values medals. I would always welcome you in my squadron. When I fly to meet the Boche, there is no one I would prefer beside me. But I believe America must have help from men like you. If they give you a desk . . . so you will sit at a desk.” He laughed, patted the wooden desk top with his hand. “It is not always so unpleasant.” He paused, leaned forward, the smile gone. “America is making an enormous leap, a dangerous leap, on very young legs. It will require time. And as much as I would like to see you up there in a SPAD, I believe that you have other duties to perform. Take the desk, for now. The American Air Service is an infant who needs guidance, just like your lion cub. I remember that he did not always listen to you, and your patience was tested. But no matter how large or how frightening he becomes, you are a part of him now, he will always listen to you. I believe, Mr. Lufbery, that you will one day lead your own escadrille, that your air service will learn quickly to listen to what you can teach them. That is the opportunity that awaits you.”
ISSOUDUN, FRANCE—JANUARY 25, 1918
The desk was large and dark, deep empty drawers, a hulking monument to the silence that surrounded him. He felt dwarfed by the massive unpadded chair, felt the hard seat pushing a dull pain up through his backside. He ran his hand across