To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [60]
Lufbery shrugged. “No idea. New aeroplane though. Clean belly. Two machine guns.”
The others had gathered, drawn by DeLaage’s unusual volume.
“Mr. Lufbery, it is clear to me that your opponent today was Oswald Boelcke. The description of his Albatros was provided by the British. He used to fly only the Eindeckers, but the Tommies believe the Albatros is a better aeroplane, so it follows that Boelcke would change. The red nose was always Boelcke’s signature. You sure what you saw was solid red?”
“Yes. The entire cowling. Boelcke? Really?”
The others began to hoot and cheer, Rockwell slapping his back.
“Luf, you almost had yourself a day! Imagine, shooting down Boelcke!”
Lufbery didn’t share their joy, said, “I didn’t shoot down anything. Never came close.”
DeLaage shouted out to them all now, “A duel with the great Boelcke!”
Rockwell said, “He waved at you? He actually waved?”
“Well, hell, any closer, and we coulda kissed.”
He had a crowd now, all the mechanics gathering as well. He saw Thenault, the captain making his way through the others.
“Congratulations, Mr. Lufbery. You fought a duel with the Boche’s finest air flyer!”
Rockwell slapped Lufbery’s arm again, said, “And, not only that, Captain, but Boelcke even waved at him.”
Thenault said, “A salute! He honored you. It was the proper thing to do. You showed him you were his equal. Even the Boche know of chivalry! It is said that pilots are so very much like the knights of old times. This is proof, yes?”
Lufbery would say nothing to dampen the party that was enveloping him. He tried to share the mood, to smile with them, felt Rockwell’s hand on his back, thought, Of course, a southern gentleman, would identify with all this talk of knighthood. He glanced at Rockwell, at Thenault, the beaming congratulations still pouring from DeLaage. He looked toward the Nieuport, saw one mechanic at the wing, already patching the rip. He wanted to object: Leave it there; let me see it every time I fly. But the man’s work was done, the plane whole again. He heard a cheer, some words from Thenault, “Tonight, we shall drink a toast to our American knight!”
Lufbery could not look at them, turned, stared out to the open field, felt annoyed by the word, thought, I don’t ride a damned horse. Killing the enemy has nothing to do with chivalry. If that was really Boelcke, then the only thing that happened today was that one of us missed an opportunity.
SEPTEMBER 20, 1916
The vicious fighting along the Verdun front had settled into what the generals were describing as a lull, and what the men in the front-line trenches referred to as a brief rest from the fires of hell. The French had taken advantage of the relative quiet to put a plan into action to damage or even destroy the German munitions works at Oberndorf. The Mauser plant there was responsible for much of Germany’s production of rifle and machine-gun parts, and the only means the French had of accomplishing the mission was a bombing raid by air. For the first time, the Americans understood that the escadrille’s relocation to Luxeuil had a strategic purpose. For days prior to the planned attack, the fighter squadrons would rehearse their role in the raid by serving as bomber escorts, each pilot learning the routine of shepherding enormous flights of French and British bombers on what the Aeronautique Militaire believed would be their most important raid of the war. For their part of the preparation, the bombers were sent aloft to dump their payloads on targets closer to home, ammunition dumps or truck and artillery parks just across the German lines. Thenault had been told that the attack would take place sometime in the near future, the exact date a closely guarded secret. For now, there was only one job for the Americans to perform: when the weather would allow, they would climb above the formations of bombers and make every effort to keep the enemy fighters away.
Only the officers spoke of the Oberndorf raid, the rest of them pretending not to dwell on a mission that