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By Root 2580 0

the men were gaining confidence and skills, and Huffer had authorized him to turn the men loose. They were sent out in small groups, two or three planes, Lufbery assuming they would be less likely to attract attention, less likely to find themselves swallowed up by some enormous chaotic confrontation. It was becoming more common now that, as the fights on the ground intensified, so too did the combat in the air. Squadrons on both sides were combining their numbers, and an engagement could easily draw the attention of dozens of fighters, swirling around each other in a firestorm of confusion. Though Lufbery had confidence in his pilots, until they had more direct experience facing the enemy, it would be senseless to throw them into that kind of brawl.

“ANYBODY HERE KNOW HOW TO DRAW?”

The pilots glanced at each other, and Lufbery saw one man raise his hand, a slow feeble gesture. It was Wentworth, the young midwesterner.

“Uh, yes, sir, I used to paint signs for my father. Livestock and such.”

Huffer pointed to the fuselage of the Nieuport, said, “It’s about time we had our own insignia. Major Lufbery and I have discussed a few ideas. I know some of you rather like the Indian design used by the Lafayette boys. Sorry, but the One hundred third staked their claim to that pretty quick. If I know Bill Thaw, he had those war bonnets sketched on his aircraft the minute he took command. You recall the medical examinations last week? Dr. Walters, Captain Paul Walters, tossed out an idea that seems to rise above anything Mr. Lufbery and I have come up with. Luf?”

Lufbery shrugged, said, “You tell ’em.”

“Well, all right. Every one of you has heard something of the griping we’ve gotten from our allies, about how long it took President Wilson to let us join in on all the fun over here. Captain Walters says we should let our allies, and certainly the enemy, know that, at long last, Uncle Sam has finally tossed his hat into the ring.” He paused, seemed to wait for the pilots to absorb the image.

They glanced at each other, and Lufbery could see nods of approval, and little else, said, “Major, perhaps you should show them what you have in mind.”

Huffer grunted, pulled a folded paper from his pocket. “Well, yes, I have it right here. Lieutenant Wentworth, since you claim some talent as an artist, you may have the honor of applying paint to this Nieuport.” Wentworth came forward, and Huffer handed him the paper. “Here . . . just like that. Something I believe the Ninety-fourth will soon be known for all over Europe. The symbol . . . the hat in the ring.”

LUFBERY WATCHED THEM LEAVING THE GROUND, THE TWO NIEUPORTS nearly side by side. He scanned the skies out beyond the field, the ceiling low and thick, waves of fog drifting over the open ground. The call had come in from the French infantry, a pair of German scout planes moving in low over the lines, and Lufbery had ordered Doug Campbell and Alan Winslow to intercept them. The two planes leveled out now, only a few hundred feet above the ground, held down by the blanket of fog above them, and Lufbery watched them banking toward the east, felt a hard twist in his stomach.

They had been flying combat patrols for days now, but the action had been sporadic. The young pilots released their frustration by boisterous claims that the Germans were purposely avoiding them, did not want to suffer the consequences of this new American power. Lufbery let them have their big talk, knew it was a release for the steam building up inside them. He knew it was nothing more than chance, that if they kept flying, their time would come, and all the talk would stop.

There were others out on the field near him, watching the thick gray skies as he was, and he let out a long breath, shook his head, felt foolish, a nervous father watching his boys go out to play. There was a shout and he turned, saw men pointing out, could see it for himself now, a trail of black smoke, a flaming aircraft tumbling out of the thick clouds. He felt ice in his chest, saw the bright ball of fire bursting on impact, the