Turning Around 2 September 1917
1900 hours
Chaudun Aerodrome main hangar I was sitting outside of my little room at the back of the hangar, bothered so by the loss of Rendell that I hadn't changed from my flying boots and woolen trousers, instead compensating against the warm of the afternoon by stripping down to my undershirt.
A truck pulled up just outside of the open doors and Lafayette bounded from it, smiling as he walked up to me.
"He holed my radiator, but I got him!" he exclaimed, "did you see it?"
"Rendell is dead," I said flatly.
"How?" the young pilot asked incredulously, the joy sucked from him in one breath, "I saw him fly back towards the aerodrome as I was making to land. My engine completely froze up."
"Crashed on landing. He had been injured by one of the observers and couldn't bring it down right."
"
Merde," he swore, and sat down on the hangar floor to my right. We said nothing, simply staring out of the hangar and ignoring the sounds and movement of mechanics.
Eventually he got back up, and as if suddenly deciding on a course of action, demanded that I change into a proper uniform at once. Rather than taking it as an invitation to fight, I went along with his request.
"Where are we going?" I asked as he led me out of the hangar.
"You'll see, Martin," he replied with far more cheerfulness than I cared for.
I trailed him to the small headquarters building and frowned as he opened the door and asked the Sergeant Major for a moment of the Exec's time.
"Yes, Lieutenant Lafayette?" the Exec asked, eyebrow raised.
"I need the use of a car and a twenty four hour pass for myself and Sergeant Miller, starting now," he ordered.
"Is that all?" he asked, suprised by the junior officer's imperious tone.
"No, I'll need three passes," he amended, "We're taking Rene with us."
"And where is the Lieutant going, if I may be so bold to ask?" The Exec seemed more amused than irritated, but his tone also let on there was to be a big
non at the end of this conversation.
"Reims."
"Reims?"
"Reims. Martin has barely seen anything of France from the ground, and none of it very good. I'm afraid he might be getting the wrong impression of our great nation."
"Approved," said a loud voice from an office adjoining the anteroom. The Commander's office. He stepped out looking very serious.
"Yes, sir," replied the Exec, clearly unhappy about being unable to deny the request.
"Don't look so glum, Paul," the Commander chided, "you're going with them."
"But sir..." he protested.
"You haven't taken a leave in six months, and it would do you good."
"Yes, sir," the Exec, clearly in disagreement.
"Besides," he added, "I need you to watch over them and make sure they don't get into trouble. They don't have the sort of connections that Torma has to bail them out."
"Naturally," the Major smiled; the idea of having fun - with or without us - was something that wasn't in his character, but playing proctor was right up his alley.
"Take my car; Rene has the keys from the last time he borrowed it without my permission."
"Thank you, sir," Lafayette grinned.
"Just come back in one piece and stay out of trouble."
And so we did. Reims was a wartime city very close to the front, which was both good and bad for four men looking for a vacation spot. Soldiers were everywhere, many buildings had been damaged from bombing and errant artillery, and there was an undertone of chaos that made people busy for the sake of being busy, an artificial rush that was the antithesis of what I had seen of the French. However, this also induced a devil-may-care atmosphere in the bars, dance halls, and the men themselves that bred vice on a scale that would make the city of New Orleans at Mardi Gras blush. The black market had so consumed things that I doubted there was a legitimate one in operation; from pornographic playing cards to German cigarettes, nothing was unvailable for a price.
Rene had an uncanny ability to find the most clandestine of operations was almost as impressive as his immediate acceptance into them, and with his passage our own. In the space of four hours we had played poker in an opium den (though we left very shortly once it became clear Lafayette was becoming woozy from the smoke), craps in a basement casino, and
Vingt-et-un in a very fancy bordello. We stayed the evening there.
The next morning I was suprised to see the Exec join me as I enjoyed some black market English tea.
"Martin," he said in a familar, friendly tone, "don't look so sad. She was a very pretty girl." He chuckled to himself at a sudden thought, adding "unless you were hoping to go to jail and discovered she is unmarried."
"I was just thinking about how Rendell's death will effect the Escadrille."
"It won't hardly matter at all."
"How can you say that?" I demanded. Rendell had been an excellent flight leader, an Ace in his own right, and just an all around fine fellow.
"They didn't know him," the Exec said with a shrug, "we've only been with the Escadrille for a week. It isn't like they could know him enough to miss him either way."
I said nothing.
"Of the many pilots I have flown with since July of 1916, only three are still alive. From the start of this year, only six."
"So many lost, sir."
"While we are on leave, it's Paul, Martin," he corrected gently, then made a wry grin. "The worst of it is that you had to be one of them."
Soon the others joined us, and after a quick round about the town we headed back to the aerodrome. I drove, as both Lafayette and Rene had managed to become so drunk that they swished around the back seat with every turn or bump, and the Major wouldn't have been caught dead driving a Sergeant, even one he was on a first name basis with.
4 September 1917The weather was fine, if getting colder, and so we would be flying in the morning.
A simple escort of a convoy that would be bringing supplies so critical that they had to be delivered in daylight. Lafayette was again flying the number four position, opposite the formation from me, and Boucher was the flight leader.
I advanced the engine to just before the grass gave way against the wheels.
I was secretly proud of taking off in synchronicity, four plane lengths behind Lafayette when my SPAD took to the air. We formed up quickly and all thoughts of worry left me. For all the danger, flying had addicted me to it.
Lafayette was holding perfect formation, focused on the flight around him, and did not respond to my wave. I would have to speak to him about that. He should be scanning the skies first and always!
A small farm estate caught my eye, resting along the gentle bend of the river. I made a mental note of it on my map (my grease pencil had fallen under the seat); it looked like a fine place to fish and beg a meal.
Soon we were over the river and nearing the front. The convoy should be close at hand, and I split my attentions between the sky, the formation, and the road below. Somehow we had crossed over a group of trucks without noticing, but closer inspection showed they were moving
away from the ugly earthen scar. Ambulances taking advantage of our air cover, no doubt.
Ahead lay the large group of trucks making its way to the Infantry.
I glanced up and cursed. So much for watching three things at once! I had been distracted and our flight was milling about, no doubt meeting with the Germans.
Keeping my machine level, I turned gently towards the discussion, figuring out the right men to pick a fight with.
There, that was a German! I dove forward towards him.
He had made a hard turn to his right and I pressed on, looking to suprise him.
He was pitching high, slowing, and I made left gently with stick and rudder.
I fired too early, trying to lead him, and he spotted me. Whether committed to his maneuver or frozen from fear, he continued on as I raced up to him, firing.
He brought the nose up high, letting it stall to the right from the nose.
Damn my poor shooting!
I raked across him as best I could, missing, and pulling up sharply so as not to hit him with my SPAD!
Looking behind me as I passed him, I was astonished to see he had staggered the stall in the other direction, coming left instead of the anticipated right.
He dove in a curve to the right, hard inside me. Damn these German planes and damn their pilots!
He continued into a sharp hairpin, but I knew he had to climb.
He did!
But there was no way I could follow his turn.
I was absolutely useless against him as he sprinted away from me.
Pushing towards him, I could only hope that he would slow for a climb or turn.
From on high, another German flashed before my guns, and I fired reflexively, kicking the rudder to the right as hard as I could.
I could see that I had hit his top wing!
Coming off the rudder to avoid rolling my machine, I corrected it and saw that he had made a quick right turn under me!
The other German must have been in front of me, judging by the smoke trails of a comrade's bullets, and I was unsure as to which one I should be concerned with.
The answer became clear as I saw the one I had performed the snap shot at reversing himself.
I made a hard right turn to meet him, and jumped in my seat to see that I needed to be concerned with
both of them! By pure luck my maneuver had spoiled the one on my nose's aim. SPADs were hard on his heels, so I whipped my head where the other was.
Headed right for me! I dove under him, slipping to the right, and he flashed over me.
Turning as hard as I dared, I saw that he too was making to put his nose on me.
This time I powered over him, staying to the outside of his turn.
I brought the nose high, letting Number 17 slow, and kicked the rudder hard to rotate it much in the same way I had my Nieuport. The German had done his version better, though.
I hammered the stick to the left and stomped the rudder that way as well, twisting my SPAD about as we both fired. Neither struck home, and Jerry passed over with a few feet of room to spare.
He made a left turn past my tail, and I decided to put the nose down and regain some speed - I was playing his game, one with the odds stacked against me.
Low to my front was another German. How many of them were there?
I kept the nose down, chasing after him and hoping the other Germans were left behind. I mentally added them up - three or possibly four Fokkers with us.
Blinking against the sun, I pressed him as he straightened up and climbed.
Firing as he turned, I could see my rounds were wide and to the right.
He slowed as he turned, and I reduced the throttle, determined to follow him and bring him down.
It was a mistake, as my SPAD began to droop in the air, my bullets streaming between his wings and not seeming to do anything.
I pushed the throttle back forward, but it was a losing proposition.
I rolled right to stay behind him as my engine fought to gain speed, and I saw that he, too, had slowed too much.
He dropped to his right, obscured by my upper wing, and I craned my neck about, hoping he hadn't done some sort of radical turn or a roll.
There he was! I had to keep my next turn gentle, but I was certain that I could extend the turn to the right.
Yet another Hun crossed my nose, but this one in a left hand turn!
I aborted the right in favor of the left; gripping the stick with both hands. Did this make four or five of the Hun we were tangled with? Regardless, I fired as he crossed my guns.
This seemed to discourage him, as when I came about he was some 400 yards away. Unless this was a different Jerry and he had done a quick reverse underneath me!
I charged forward, checking my guns. I fired at long range.
He did the most incredible slip, rolling diagonally against the ground, and escaped me.
A German climbed straight up from underneath me, his wings barely visible at my nose one instant...
....and past my guns the next. There was no time to shoot!
His velocity was greater than mine (a clear indication that I was in a very bad way!), and I tracked as he made a climbing turn to the right.
I kept my track, expecting the fish hook shaped turn.
He did not disappoint! I fired a short burst, hoping to catch his engine.
Perhaps I did, as he dove long into a shallow turn. I rolled Number 17 hard to the right, smelling blood.
He went left as I neared, shaking my aim.
Perhaps he was wounded, or exhausted, or simply thought I would dive with him as he turned, but he suddenly climbed, giving me a momentary chance to score some hits on him. I ruined it, of course!
I could see his rudder clearly, and anticipated his sharp left turn. I fired as he cut across in front of me.
How I was missing him was a mystery!
Perhaps I hadn't, though, as he pitched downward towards the ground. Of course another German approached from a higher altitude.
He went past me overhead. Where was the rest of my flight?
I shot at him while he was at the apex of his fish hook. It was long range, but it was the best I'd had.
His turn was much more shallow as he dove away, and I could see fabric from his wings had shredded. And a SPAD!
I moved to strike the German, even as another from my flight attacked him.
He had slowed considerably, and I lined my shot up carefully.
Aiming high as he climbed against my aeroplane, I fired.
Lead streamed into the Fokker.
He made the slow roll towards the ground, one I had seen many times before.
Not bothering to watch him crash, I reversed my roll and spotted another German. Now I definately knew there were at least three Huns, if not four or six - I had downed two already!
I hit him at point blank range, right to the nose!
He turned left and was rewarded with fire from one of my flight!
Reversing, I rolled with him.
He flew up from under my guns, and I gave a short tap to the triggers.
As he came high, I saw that my aim had been good, if my timing uncertain.
He turned back left and high, hanging in the air, as another of my flight sent a huge stream of tracers into him. Flames billowed from his machine and he made a curl of smoke through the air.
I glanced about and spotted what I hoped to be the last of the Germans.
Diving under him, I hoped I had been unseen as he turned.
He went too far to the right and found himself with a very French greeting!
I was the one that had him in my grip, however.
Even dazzeled by the sun, I knew my rounds had hit home.
As I watched his Fokker incenerate, I was welcomed by an even more disturbing sight - the bottom of the inner spar had broken away!
When in the fight it had happened was a mystery, and I was once again in awe of the strength of the SPAD.
Owing to the damage, I landed first, bringing my machine off of the landing area and to the hangars even as the rest of the flight came in.
It was in large measure vanity that I had brought Number 17 within a few feet of the hangar. My muscles burned and ached, my eyes hurt in their sockets, and I doubted that I had the strength to climb out of the machine, let alone walk any distance at all. Rene and another mechanic lifted me from the cockpit and half dragged me to a chair at the side of the door. They pulled mittens, helmet and my goggles off of me, and loosened my flying coat. Rene lit a cigarette and placed it in my mouth.
Lafayette came limping up, forgetting the use of his cane, and sat on a barrel he wheeled over. He was playing the clown, but he was struggling to roll a cigarette, as if his hands were wooden.
Boucher stormed up.
"Martin, what were you thinking?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You had both of them and let them go!"
I shook my head, uncomprehending, and looked at him, puzzled.
"You may think it is fine to drive them down, but I expect you to finish the job," he blustered, "there is no need for charity to other pilots. Never give the Germans a chance!"
Jaques laughed, causing Boucher's ears to turn red.
"What do you think is so funny, Lafayette?"
The young Lieutenant looked at me and then our flight leader, and let out another guffaw.
"Boucher," he smirked, "Martin thought he
had shot them down! How many Germans did we face, Martin?"
"Four," I said confidently.
"Two," he corrected. "They feigned the death dive, and you fell for the trick!"
"Oh, sweet Jesus," I said in English.
Boucher said nothing, staring at me, and then snorted in disbelief.
"How the hell did you ever become a quadruple Ace?"
"Luck," I said plainly. It was the truth!
As we sat, my strength slowly returned; for Lafayette the opposite was true. His leg stiffened and he began to wince from it with every tiny movement. I asked Rene to have him moved to my quarters and propped up on the bed, and as I took the chair next to the desk demanded that he send for lunch and a nurse.
