To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [37]
“So, why are you here?”
Thaw shrugged. “Same reason as the rest of us, I guess. It felt like the right thing to do. When the Boche invaded Belgium, it really bothered me. I don’t know any Belgians, don’t know that I ever met one. But look how they fought back, this little pissant country standing up to the strongest army in the world. Surprised the hell out of Kaiser Bill. The Boche thought they had a clear path into France. The Belgian king, what’s his name, Albert. Led his army himself, stood right up to the Boche guns and said, Hell no you don’t. Not without a fight. He knew he didn’t have a chance in hell, but he fought them anyway. Guts. Gotta admire that. Really made me think. These Boche bastards think they can just march into France and take over, like it’s their Divine Right. There’s your religion for you. I guarantee you Kaiser Bill thinks God’s on his side.”
They walked in silence for a minute, the house visible now. Thaw looked at him, said, “Okay, what about you? Why’d you sign up?”
Lufbery didn’t hesitate. “To kill Germans.”
Thaw absorbed the answer, laughed now. “Good a reason as any.”
THEY FINISHED THE COFFEE, THE MAID CLEANING UP THAW’S MESS in the kitchen. Lufbery had settled into a soft chair in the narrow parlor, surrounded by bookshelves, dusty volumes that seemed to have been untouched for years. Chapman sat across from him, his arms crossed, staring at the floor. Lufbery could not help staring at the bandage on the man’s head, and Chapman noticed him, said, “It’s nothing. A damned scratch. If Thenault doesn’t let me fly tomorrow, I may steal a plane and do it anyway.”
Thaw came in now, said, “If you go anywhere, you better tell them to put a bigger windscreen on your Nieuport. How the hell you get those long damned legs into a cockpit is a mystery to me anyway.”
Chapman laughed, and Lufbery smiled as well, could see now that Thaw had a talent for disarming anyone’s anger. Chapman swung his knees from side to side, said, “Took me a while to figure it out. Damned French aeroplanes are made for short stubby little Frenchmen.” He looked at Lufbery. “No offense, Luf.”
Lufbery laughed. “I’m not French. Just stubby. But I’m not the one with the bandage on my head. Maybe you do need a bigger windscreen.”
“You see Kiffin’s face? Sure, that’s all I need, more glass in front of me to cut me to hell. Nope. Gotta maintain my good looks. Keep these mademoiselles coming back for more. They like these old long legs. Makes ’em curious about . . . the rest.”
Thaw laughed now, and the maid appeared, said, “Monsieur Thaw. My son has returned with the equipment you requested.”
Thaw hooted, followed her out of the room, and Lufbery said, “What equipment?”
Chapman shook his head. “No telling. But he’s been harassing that poor woman ever since we got here. She’s had her boy running all over the town trying to find God knows what.”
They could hear Thaw shouting now, and Chapman said, “All right, I guess we gotta go see.”
Lufbery followed him out through the rear door of the house. Thaw was in the yard, a long thin pole in his right hand, whipping it back and forth above him.
“Yee hee! Perfect!”
He reached in his pocket now, pulled out what seemed to be money, handed it to the boy, a gangly twelve-year-old. The boy made a bow, stared at Thaw as he continued to whip the pole. Lufbery saw a wooden box on the ground beside Thaw, and Chapman said, “What the hell? You bought a bull whip?”
Thaw was all smiles, set the pole down, picked up the box, opened the lid.
“Look! A spool of line, some wooden lures, the whole works!”
Lufbery understood now, said, “Fishing