Thank you, Mac. Give the bastards one for Mr Andrew, sir. The adjutant was waiting for him. We have all aircraft operational again, Michael. Twelve on the duty roster. All right.
Hank will take the noon patrol, and I will fly at 1530 hrs alone.
Alone? The adjutant took his pipe out of his mouth in surprise.
Alone, Michael confirmed. Then a full squadron sweep at dusk, as usual.
The adjutant made a note. By the way, message from General Courtney. He will do his best to attend the ceremony this evening. He thinks he will almost certainly be there. Michael smiled for the first time that day. He had wanted very badly for Sean Courtney to be at his wedding.
Hope you can make it also, Bob. You can bet on it. Whole squadron will be there. Looking forward to it no end. Michael wanted a drink badly. He started towards the mess.
God, it's eight o'clock in the morning, he thought, and stopped. He felt brittle and dried-out, whisky would put warmth and juice into his body again, and he felt his hands begin to tremble with his deep need for it. It took all his resolve to turn away from the mess and go to his tent. He remembered then that he hadn't slept the previous night.
Biggs was sitting on a packing case outside the tent, polishing Michael's boots, but he jumped to attention, his face expressionless.
Enough of that! Michael smiled at him. Sorry about last night, Biggs. Bloody rude of me. I didn't mean it. I know, sir.
Biggs relaxed. I felt the same way about the major. Biggs, wake me at three. I've got some sleep to catch up on. It was not Biggs who woke him but the shouts of the ground crews, the sound of running men, the deep bellowing tone of the anti-aircraft guns along the edge of the orchard, and the roaring overhead of a Mercedes aircraft engine.
Michael staggered out of his tent with tousled hair and bloodshot eyes, still half-asleep. What the hell is happening, Biggs?
A Hun, sir, cheeky brighter beating up the base."He's pushed off again.
Other pilots and ground crew were shouting qnongst the trees as they ran to the edge of the field.
Didn't even fire a shot Did you see him?
An Albatros, blue with black and white wings. The devil almost took the roof of the mess He dropped something, Bob's picked it up.
Michael ducked back into the tent and pulled on his jacket and a pair of tennis shoes. He heard two or three of the aircraft starting up as he ran out of the tent again.
Some of his own pilots were setting off in pursuit of the German interloper.
Stop those men from taking off! Michael yelled, and before he reached the adjutant's office he heard the engines switched off again in response to his order.
There was small crowd of curious pilots at the door, and Michael pushed through them just as the adjutant untied the drawstring that closed the mouth of the canvas bag that the German machine had dropped. The chorus of question and comment and speculation was silenced immediately as they all realized what the bag contained.
The adjutant gently ran the strip of green silk through his fingers. There were black-rimmed holes burned through it and it was stained with dried black blood.
Andrew's scarf, he said unnecessarily, and his silver flask. The silver was badly dented, but the cairngorm stopper gleamed yellow and gold as he turned it in his hands, and the contents gurgled softly. He set it aside and one by one drew the other items from the bag: Andrew's medal ribbons, the amber cigarette-holder, a spring -loaded sovereign case that still contained three coins, his pigskin wallet. The photograph of Andrew's parents standing in the grounds of the castle fell from the wallet as he turned it over.
What's this? The adjutant picked out a buff-coloured envelope of thick glossy paper sealed with a wax wafer. It's addressed, he read the face of the envelope to the pilot of the yellow SE5a. The adjutant looked up at Michael, startled.
That's you, Michael, how the hell?
Michael took the envelope from him and split the seal with his thumbnail.
There was a single sheet of the same first-quality paper.
The letter was handwritten, and though the writing was obviously continental, for the capitals were formed in Gothic script, the text was in perfect English: Sir, Your friend, Lord Andrew Killigerran, was buried this morning in the cemetery of the Protestant church at Douai. This Jagdstaffel accorded him full military honours.
I have the honour to inform you, and at the same time also to warn you that no death in war is murder. The object of warfare is the destruction of the enemy by all means possible.
I look forward to meeting you.
OTTO VON GREIM. Near Douai.
They were all looking expectantly at Michael as he folded the letter and thrust it into his pocket.
They recovered Andrew's body, he said quietly, and he was buried with full military honours at Douai this morning. Bloody decent of them, one of the pilots murmured.
Yes, for Huns, that is, said Michael, and turned towards the door.
Michael, the adjutant stopped him, I think Andrew would have wanted you to have this.
He handed the silver hip flask to Michael. Michael turned it slowly in his hands. The dent in the metal had probably been caused by the impact, he thought, and he shivered.
Yes, he nodded. I'll look after it for him. He turned back to the door and pushed his way through the group of silent officers.
Biggs helped him dress with even more than his usual attention to detail.
I gave them a good rub of dubbin, sir, he pointed out as he helped Michael into the soft kudu-skin boots.
Michael appeared not to have heard the remark.
Although he had lain down again after the disturbance of the German aircraft's fly-over, he had not managed to sleep. Yet he felt calm, even placid. What's that, Biggs? he asked vaguely.
I said, I'll have your number ones laid out for you when you come back, and I've arranged with the cook for a good five gallons of hot water for your bath. Thank you, Biggs. Not every day it happens, Mr Michael. That's true, Biggs, once in a lifetime is enough. I'm sure you and the young lady are going to be very happy. Me and my missus been married twenty-two years come June, sir. A long time, Biggs. I hope you break my record, Mr Michael. I'll try One other thing, sir. Biggs was embarrassed, he did not look up from the lacings of the boots. We shouldn't ought to be flying alone, sir. Not safe at all, sir, we should take Mr Johnson with us at least, beg your pardon, sir I know it's not my place to say so. Michael laid his hand on Bigg's shoulder for a moment.
He had never done that before.
Have that bath ready for me when I get home, he said as he stood up.
Biggs watched him stoop out through the flap of the tent, without saying goodbye or wishing him luck, though it took an effort to restrain himself from doing so, then he picked up Michael's discarded jacket and folded it with exaggerated care.
When the Wolseley engine fired and caught, Michael advanced the ignition until she settled to a fine deep rumble. Then he listened to it critically for thirty seconds before he looked up at Mac who was standing on the wing beside the cockpit, his hair and overalls fluttering in the wash of the propeller.
Lovely, Mac! he shouted above the engine beat, and Mac grinned.
Give them hell, sir, and jumped down to pull the chocks from in front of the landing-wheels.
Instinctively Michael drew a deep breath, as though he were about to dive into one of those cool green pools of the Tugela river, and then eased the throttle open and the big machine rolled forward.
The knoll behind the chAteau was deserted once again, but he had not expected anything else. He lifted the nose into the climb attitude and then changed his mind, let it drop again and brought her round in a tight turn, his wingtip almost brushing the tops of the oaks.
He came out of the turn with the chAteau directly ahead, and he flew past it at the height of the pink-tiled roof. He saw no sign of life and as soon as he was past, he banked the SE5a into a figure-of-eight turn and came around again, still at roof level, This time he saw movement. One of the windows at ground level, near the kitchens, was thrown open. Someone was waving a yellow cloth from it, but he could not make out who it was.