To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [236]
Hall seemed to fidget, and Lufbery could tell he was uncomfortable with the somber mood.
“Well, hell, Bill, they move us all over the place. We’ll bump into you sooner or later.”
Thaw nodded, still looked at Lufbery. “All right, I need to get out of here. We’re loading up all our equipment on the train, have to get the hangars cleared out before I send the pilots up. At least the pilots get to fly there. Long damned trip otherwise. You been on a train lately? The French are patching their tracks with scrap metal. I feel bad for the ground crews.”
He stood, the others putting down their glasses. Thaw held out a hand to the other two, said, “Keep ’em flying. You got a good group here. The Boche have their hands full.”
He turned to Lufbery now, who looked down again, felt a dark hole opening up inside of him. He had done all he could to keep the word out of his mind, friend, the great mistake, growing close to the men around you, the men who so often didn’t come back. He saw Thaw’s hand extended toward him, let out a long breath, took the hand, held it tightly for a moment. Thaw said, “Dammit, Luf. This was supposed to be a celebration.”
“For what?”
“Well, hell, did we ever need a reason? I don’t know. Richthofen’s dead. That’s worth a drink, right?”
Lufbery released Thaw’s hand, nodded slowly, looked up, saw the familiar smile on the man’s thick round face. He tried to fight through his gloom, said, “Yep. One more Boche in the ground.”
Thaw patted him on the shoulder now, said, “Okay, I gotta take off. You guys keep an eye on each other, right? You screw up, and Luf here will kick your ass. I’ve seen him do it too. Throws a right hand with a kick like a damned mule.”
Lufbery forced a smile, felt angry at himself now, something holding him back from their playfulness. Hall and Peterson followed Thaw out of the room, and Lufbery waited, heard their voices, some rude comment about Peterson’s college days. He picked up the wine bottle, saw it was empty, set it aside, had no more excuses for staying there alone. The voices were gone now, and he knew Thaw would be in his SPAD quickly, that if he had a mission there would be no delay. He moved toward the door, could see the hangar, the rows of Nieuports, the activity, thought of Thaw’s words, a good group. It’s true. I never thought it would happen, so much confusion, so much incompetence. And yet, here we are. It’s working. There’s more of us every day. Yep. A good group.
MAY 7, 1918
He watched them coming in, felt the cold hole opening in his chest. Three had gone out. Two were returning. He waited for them to taxi close, saw one man put his face down in his hands, the other snatch away his goggles. It was Rickenbacker. Lufbery moved up to the Nieuport, waited for the news. Rickenbacker looked over at the other plane, then looked at him, said, “I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry, sir. Ask Green.”
Lufbery moved slowly around to the other plane, heard soft sobs. The ice grew in his chest. The missing man was Jimmy Hall. He suddenly had no patience for the show of emotion, said, “Lieutenant Green. Get hold of yourself. What happened?”
He saw the young man stiffening, fighting with himself, and Green said, “All I saw . . . Jimmy went in first. I thought there were too many of them . . . but he attacked, so I followed him. They must have gotten on his tail. I saw him going down . . . the top wing was gone. I didn’t see him crash.”
Rickenbacker was beside him now, and Lufbery said, “Where, Lieutenant? Where were you?”
Green said, “Just west of the woods at Montsec.”
Lufbery let out a breath, thought, Behind German lines. No way to find him.
He moved away from the plane, carried the familiar weight inside of him. He looked toward the hangar, saw his own Nieuport, began to walk that way. The mechanics responded, the men gathering at the plane, and he motioned to the wheels, said, “Remove the chocks. I’m going up.”
They obeyed, pushed the Nieuport out of the hangar. He retrieved his flight suit, went through the tedious routine,