“Don’t do it,” McGee warned, as he turned away. “I’ve just had a little experience with the infantry and it’s not such a bed of roses. See you later, Williams.”
“Well for the luva Pete!” Williams commented to himself, standing arms akimbo as he watched McGee 233cross over toward headquarters. “And they said that bird’s head was busted wide open and his brains scattered all over France. Now there he is, big as life. I’ll bet ten bucks to a lousy centime he lives to fall off a merry-go-round and break his neck. For the luva Pete!”
2
McGee’s return to the squadron would have been fittingly celebrated but for the fact that five o’clock the following morning had been designated as “zero hour” for the greatest drive ever undertaken by Americans on foreign soil. He had arrived just in time to hurl himself into the feverish preparations for the support which all air units must give the massed ground forces that would hurl themselves upon the supposedly impregnable Hindenburg Line. With the coming of dawn the combat squadrons must gain and hold air supremacy. Nothing less than complete and absolute supremacy would satisfy Great Headquarters, who in planning the drive were high in the hope that the fresh divisions of American soldiers could break through the Hindenburg Line and by hammering, hammering, hammering at the enemy force him into peace terms before the coming of winter.
McGee was tickled pink by his timely arrival, but it was not all a matter of rejoicing. For one thing, it 234seemed that almost the entire group was made up of new faces. Of those flight pilots whom he had first met when he came to the squadron as an instructor, only three remained–Yancey, Nathan Rodd and Siddons. Of course Larkin was still on top, and Cowan not only held his command, but had established quite a reputation. Yancey had earned the right to a nickname more appropriately fitting than “the flying fool,” for he was anything but a fool and his mounting victories proved that he had something more than luck.
Nathan Rodd, his nerve unshattered by his first unfortunate encounter with the enemy, was still as taciturn as ever, preferring to let his deeds speak for him.
As for Siddons, McGee could get no information out of Larkin save that everyone thought that Siddons had some pull. A good flyer, yes, Larkin admitted, but forever cutting formation, flying off where he pleased, absenting himself for two or three days, and returning with the thinnest of excuses. But he got by, somehow, and Cowan was the only one who appeared friendly toward him. For the past twenty-four hours, Larkin told McGee, Siddons had been working on a two-seater and had made two test flights. No one seemed to know what was back of it, but rather believed Siddons was to be transferred to Observation, at least during the coming battle.
235To this information McGee made no reply, but secretly hoped that Siddons was in fact being transferred to Observation, where his activities would be more easily accounted for due to the fact that he would be carrying an observer.
3
Late that afternoon rain began falling, and at mess time the mess hall became the stage for exceptionally spirited banter and wild conjecture as to what would happen on the morrow. Confidential battle orders carried the information that artillery preparation would begin at midnight, continuing with great concentration until 5:30 a.m., zero hour, when the attacking forces of nine American divisions would storm over the top in the beginning of a titanic struggle to carry the famous Hindenburg Line and sweep the Germans back through the Argonne and beyond the Meuse.