"True, very true!" the Lieutenant-Observer who had brought back the challenge was reputed to have retorted. "Not a man among us has ever been degraded, therefore, Herr Supernumerary Officer, you stand alone. And we of the Field Flight do not regard your presence among us as a distinction. You may possibly conceive that?"
He had said it just as though he had had a stink under his nose, according to the narrator. And he had dropped von Herrnung's letter on von Herrnung's table, wiped his fingers ostentatiously upon his handkerchief, given the ghost of a salute—wheeled and gone out. After that the whilom favourite of Fortune had turned sullen and solitary, and developed such desperate recklessness that men funked to fly with him. Subsequently the Bird of War hovering-gear having, after due examination by Government experts, been relinquished to its captor, he had had the mechanism adapted to a Taube monoplane, and thenceforward made Her Dearest the sharer of his flights.
You are to suppose Bawne snatching fearful joys in the realisation of cherished ambitions. Loathing and fearing, he yet admired the big red-haired man, so superbly brave in the air that seemed his natural element. Equally the man, detesting the child, grudgingly acknowledged his courage and obedience. No queerer companionship may have been than this between the Enemy, and the son of Saxham and Lynette.
When the Flight Squadron shifted to Aix-la-Chapelle, a huge seething caldron of military preparation,—"Does England declare War against us?" people asked the Flight officers. "It is probable," they answered, "Gott sei danke!" Upon the Third of August, starting at night, Bawne had made a long flight with the Enemy. At midnight the Taube had hovered over a great, beautiful city twinkling with millions of electric lights.
"That is Brussels you see down there," shouted von Herrnung through the voice-tube. "The city is en fête because of the agreement arrived at between the Emperor and the Belgian King. That means England has lost a friend, and made another enemy. Do you understand, little English swine?"
And von Herrnung, who had brought a Wireless outfit, had busied himself in picking up messages from a low-powered installation at the German Embassy and transmitting them to Somebody, high in authority, who waited at Berlin. He had grown more and more peeved as he went about his business, Bawne could not tell why but Franky understood quite well.
Belgium had not been content that the Red Cock should perch upon her British neighbour's roof, while her own house remained unscathed by fire. Franky smiled, knowing this to have been the burden of the song sung by the tuned sparks. Broad day had found the big city humming with mobilisation, enormous placards printed in the National Colours, with: "BELGIUM REFUSES!" and "ROI, LOI, LIBERTÉ," posted in all the public places—and a park of heavy Artillery concentrated round the Etterbeek Barracks, as von Herrnung had flown back to Aix-la-Chapelle on the morning of August 4th.
Bawne went on:
The Flight Squadron had been attached to a Field Artillery Division of the Second Corps, under a General named von Kluck. A huge man he, with a square head and a big mouth full of broken teeth. Bawne had previously seen him at the Wireless Station where he had been taken on landing from the submarine.
They had seen little of the aviation-base, from the beginning of hostilities. The Powers that Were had promptly taken von Herrnung at his word. For him were the long-distance flights, the delicate and risky missions, the dangerous reconnaissances over the Allied batteries. Driven by that gadfly of desire to regain the lost distinctions, he seemed to have lost all sense of fear and to bear a charmed life.