“That morning? You mean he–”
“Got another one, a flamer, just back of Chateau-Thierry. That boy is some flyer! He’s an ace already.”
McGee’s delight was genuine. “That’s great! Never can tell, can you? I didn’t think much of his work.” He hesitated, wanting to inquire about the others but held back by that statement of Larkin’s 208to the effect that casualties were above forty per cent. He feared he would ask about someone whose name was now enrolled in that sickening total.
“What about–Yancey?” he tried.
Larkin laughed. “Oh, that Texas cyclone is as wild as a range horse and is due to get potted any minute. In fact, he’s overdue. He’s a balloon busting fool, and no one can stop him. He has nine of them to his credit and every time he goes out he comes back with his plane in shreds and just barely holding together. You’d think it would cure him, but he eats shrapnel. Has two planes to his credit, but he doesn’t go in for planes. He cuts formation exactly like you used to, Shrimp, and goes off high, wide and lonesome, looking for sausages. He got one just this morning, and I give you my word his ship looked like a sieve when he came in. The Major threatens to ground him if he doesn’t quit cutting formation, but he’s only bluffing. He’s as proud as the rest of us.”
“So Cowan is all right?” Red asked.
“He sure is all right,” Larkin enthused. “He’s an intolerable old fuss budget and hard to get along with when on the ground or out of action, but he’s square, he’s developed into a real commander, and he’s got sand a-plenty. He’s coming down to see you to-morrow–and that’s going some for Cowan. He likes you a lot.”
209Red colored, and to change the subject, asked, “What about Hampden? Didn’t I see him go down just before I caught it?”
“Yes. Flamer. Poor devil!”
To Red’s mind came the picture of Siddons, fleeing from the field of action a few minutes before the tragic death of the only man in the squadron who really called him friend. Friend, indeed!