To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [40]
In minutes the German soldiers reached the crumpled wreckage, some grabbing for souvenirs, one man snatching the mangled Lewis gun from the plane’s shattered wing. They pulled the body free now, stood aside as an officer moved close, the man reaching into the dead man’s pockets, retrieving letters addressed to someone named Balsley. The officer would give the letters to the Red Cross, would assume that they belonged to the pilot. The officer would not give the man’s name another thought, had no reason to think the letters were for another man who lay desperately wounded a few miles away. The only mystery lay scattered on the ground around the wreckage, the soldiers now picking them up, sniffing them, tossing them to each other, an impromptu game. The officer allowed them their sport, carried the letters back to his shelter, wondered why anyone would fly with a bag of oranges.
THE DEATH OF CHAPMAN WEIGHED HEAVILY ON ALL OF THEM, AND Lufbery could see the changes in every man. Some openly mourned, DeLaage and Kiffin Rockwell most of all. Others, like Bill Thaw, had tried to defuse the pain, putting a smiling face on their sadness. But even Thaw was not immune, had escaped the sadness of the residence by disappearing with his fishing pole into the nearby forests. Lufbery had finally asked Thaw if he could come along. The request had been met with Thaw’s familiar smile, and now Lufbery followed him as Thaw tramped off through the dark swamps. With the stifling heat of the summer, the streams were clear and shallow, the muddy swamps not so difficult to cross. The air was thick with flying and buzzing pests, and he had slapped at the bugs, drawing Thaw’s immediate attention. The fisherman would study them, comparing the squashed insects in Lufbery’s clothing to whatever small fuzzy lure he had in his tackle. Lufbery tried to understand Thaw’s enthusiasm, the man happily engaged for long minutes tying a simple knot in his fishing line. While Thaw eased along the streams, Lufbery scouted the soft ground for the precious mushrooms, was delighted to find a variety he had not expected. By the time the sun had begun to set, both men were successful. As they made their way over the increasingly familiar trails, Lufbery marveled at Thaw’s ability to recall every detail of every victory over the fish he carried home. Lufbery’s victory was his own, Thaw having no understanding why any man would spend time in the outdoors just to dig up fungus.
THE MAID WATCHED FROM THE DOORWAY AS BOTH MEN FOUND NEW ways to create utter chaos in her kitchen. But the results were promising, the smells rolling through the house, inspiring the