To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [88]
MARCH 1917
THE ORIGINAL FOUNDERS OF THE SQUADRON CONTINUED TO DROP away. On March 19, Jim McConnell flew his last mission, disappearing into the combat zone, with no word of his fate until French cavalry happened upon the wreckage of his plane. McConnell was close to thirty, nearly as old as Lufbery, a midwesterner, the son of a prominent judge and railroad magnate. From the beginning, he had been the hard-luck case of the squadron, had been injured the previous summer just badly enough that flying was painfully difficult. As McConnell’s effectiveness decreased, Captain Thenault had ordered him to recuperate at the American hospital. But McConnell pushed his convalescence too hard, had made several attempts to return to active duty. Each time, his injuries proved too uncomfortable. With the long winter finally drawing to a close, he had come back again, had endured his discomfort long enough to retune his skills, to become proficient in the air. But if his physical condition had improved, his luck had not. He was the fourth escadrille founder to die.
The end of the year saw another founding member depart the escadrille, but it had little to do with combat. Though he had been officially credited with three confirmed victories, Bert Hall had built a reputation more for his mouth than his flying. From the squadron’s first days, Hall was a man who made it clear that he intended to leave the war a hero, with all the trappings and fringe benefits that would guarantee back home. Throughout the escadrille’s first year, Hall made continuous claims for victories that no one could confirm, and seemed to shine most when no one was around to observe. Lufbery had stayed clear of Hall, respected that Kiffin Rockwell had despised the man. When Hall was caught cheating at cards, it was the final straw. Hall himself seemed to appreciate that he was unwanted, and to the enormous relief of everyone in the squadron, Thenault recommended him for a transfer. He was first assigned to another French squadron, but soon after, word came back to the escadrille that Hall had requested transfer again, had given up the French Air Service to serve instead in Romania, presumably seeking further adventures. Lufbery had no doubts that Bert Hall had chosen to find that adventure in a place where no one had yet learned of his reputation as a consummate liar.
With the coming of spring, and clearer skies, the Lafayette Escadrille had exactly one remaining founding member: Bill Thaw. Lufbery was now the second highest in seniority. To the new and inexperienced pilots, the two men carried all the prestige befitting the glory of the outfit. While Thaw seemed to enjoy the respect, Lufbery could not avoid the gnawing feeling that his longevity simply meant that every day he flew, he was pushing his luck.
WITH THE BATTLEFIELDS ALONG THE SOMME QUIET ONCE MORE, the squadron had been moved again, to an airfield somewhat closer to Paris. The town was called Saint-Just-en-Chaussée and was located near an airfield as primitive as it was miserable. There were no barracks at all, no facility yet provided for the comfort of the men. With the coming of spring, the speculation began as to which side would launch the first major offensive of the new year. All the pilots were told was that the purpose of the move was to position the Lafayette Escadrille closer to the center of the entire Western Front. The orders from the Aeronautique Militaire were no more specific than that: sooner or later, someone will launch an attack. Be ready to assist.
The winter had been horribly severe. Though it was suggested that all air squadrons make periodic patrols over the front