the squadron has received an urgent despatch, delivered by motor-cycle less than half an hour ago, direct from divisional headquarters. He held it up and waved it at arm's length, pinching his nostrils with the other hand so that his voice was nasal as he went on.
You will be able to smell the quality of the literary style and the contents from where you are sitting- There were a few polite guffaws, but the eyes that watched him were screwed up nervously, and here and there were little nervous movements, the shuffling of feet, one of the old hands cracking his knuckles, another nibbling on his thumbnail, Michael unconsciously blowing on his fingertips, for all of them knew that the scrap of coarse yellow paper that Andrew was waving at them might be their death warrant.
Andrew held it at arm's length and read from it.
From Divisional Headquarters, Arras.
To the Officer Commanding No. 21 Squadron RFC.
Near Mort Homme.
As Of 24:00 hrs 4th April 1917, you will at all costs prevent any enemy aerial observation over your designated sector until further orders to the contrary.
That's all, gentlemen. Four lines, a mere bagatelle, but A let me point out to you the succinct phrase 'at all costs' without dwelling upon it. He paused and looked over the mess slowly, watching it register on each strained and gaunt face.
My God, look how old they have grown, he thought, irrelevantly. Hank looks fifty years old, and Michael-he glanced up at the mirror over the mantelpiece, and when he saw his reflection, he brushed nervously at his own forehead where in the last few weeks the sandy hair had receded in two deep bays, leaving pink skin like a beach at low tide. Then he dropped his hand selfconsciously and went on.
Beginning at 0500 hours tomorrow morning, all pilots will fly four daily sorties until further notice, he announced. There will be the usual dawn and dusk sweeps, but from now on they will be at full squadron strength. He looked around for questions, there were none. Then each flight of aircraft will make an additional two sorties, one hour on, and two hours off, or as our friends in the Royal Navy are wont to say, 'Standing watch and watch'. That way we will maintain a perpetual presence over the squadron's designated area They all stirred again and then heads turned towards Michael, for he was the eldest and their natural spokesman. Michael blew on his fingers and then studied them minutely. Do I have any questions? Hank cleared his throat.
Yes? Andrew turned to him expectantly, but Hank subsided back into his armchair.
Just to get this straight, Michael spoke at last. We will all fly the two hours dawn and dusk patrols, that's four hours, and then an additional four hours during the day? Is my arithmetic correct, or does that make eight hours of combat a day?
Give Captain Courtney a coconut, Andrew nodded.
My trade union isn't going to like it, and they laughed, a nervous braying chorus quickly cut off. Eight hours was too much, far too much, no man could exercise the vigilance and nervous response necessary to sustain that length of combat flight for a single day. They were being asked to do it day after day without promise of respite.
Any other questions? Service and maintenance of the aircraft? Mac has promised me that he can do it, Andrew replied to Hank. Anything else? No? All right, gentlemen, my book is open. But the pilgrimage to the bar to take advantage of Andrew's offer was subdued, and nobody discussed the new orders. They drank quietly but determinedly, avoiding each other's eyes. What was there to discuss?
The Comte de Thiry, with a vista of forty thousand hectares of lush farming land before his eyes, gave his rapturous approval to the wedding, and shook hands with Michael as though he were wringing an ostrich's neck.
Anna hugged Centaine to her bosom. My baby! she wheezed, slow fat tears seeping out of the creases around her eyes and coursing down her face. You are going to leave Anna. Don't be a goose, Anna, I will need you still. You can come with me to Africa, and Anna sobbed aloud.
Africa! and then even more dolorously, What kind of wedding will it be? There are no guests to invite, Raoul the chef is in the trenches fighting the boche, oh, my baby, it will be a scandalous wedding! The priest will come over, and the general, Michel's uncle, has promised, and the pilots from the squadron.
It will be a wonderful wedding, Centaine contradicted her.
No choir, sobbed Anna. No wedding feast, no wedding dress, no honeymoon. Papa will sing, he has a wonderful voice, and you and I will bake the cake and kill one of the suckling pigs. We can alter Mama's dress, and Michel and I will have our honeymoon here, just the way Papa and Mama did. Oh, my baby! Once Anna's tears had started, they would not that readily be dried.
When will it be? The comte had not yet relinquished Michael's hand. Name the day.'Saturday, at eight in the evening.'So soon! wailed Anna. Why so soon? The comte struck his thigh as inspiration came to him.
We will open a bottle of the very best champagne and perhaps even a bottle of the Napoleon cognac! Centaine, my little one, where are the keys? And this time she could not refuse him.
In their nest of blankets and straw they lay in each other's embrace, and in halting sentences Michael tried to explain the new squadron orders to her. She could not fully comprehend their dreadful significance. She understood only that he was going into dire peril and she held him with all her strength.
But you will be there on our wedding day? Whatever happens, you will come to me on our wedding day? Yes, Centaine, I will be there.'Swear it to me, Michel.'I swear it. No! No! Swear the most dreadful oath you can think of.
I swear it on my life and on my love for you.'Ah, Michel, she sighed and pressed against him, satisfied at last. I will watch for you as you fly by each dawn and each dusk, and I will meet you here each night. They made love in a frenzy, a madness of the blood, as though they were trying to consume each other, and the fury of it left them exhausted so that they slept in each other's arms until Centaine woke, and it was late. The birds were calling in the forest and the first light filtered into the barn.
Michel! Michel! It is almost half past four. By the light of the lantern she checked the gold watch pinned to her jacket.
Oh, my God, Michael began pulling on his clothes, still groggy with sleep, I'll miss the dawn patrol-'No. Not if you go directly. I can't leave you. Don't argue! Go, Michel! Go quickly.
