Read Chapter 15: THE RETURN OF THE DEAD

Captain Bellon regained consciousness shortly after midnight.

When Vautrin entered his room, Bellon tried to sit up and nearly fell out of bed.

"Lieutenant?"

"Reports of my death were administratively efficient."

Bellon looked from Vautrin to Luc.

"I am going to court-martial both of you after I finish thanking you."

They told him about Fournier's ledger and the Cazeneuves' decision to testify.

Bellon listened, then said, "Delorme will reach group headquarters by morning. If he presents his version first, we spend weeks untangling it."

"Then we reach them first," Vautrin said.

"Roads are clogged with the relocation."

"We fly."

Luc looked at him. "In what?"

Three squadron aircraft had survived the fire intact. None was Number Six.

The best was an older SPAD assigned to Valette, with an engine that burned oil and a starboard wing repaired after shell damage.

Vautrin grinned at Luc's expression.

"You said you could make sure I lose fewer horses."

"I cannot manufacture a new aeroplane before sunrise."

"An intolerable limitation."

Luc spent two hours preparing Valette's machine. He cleaned plugs, adjusted valves, replaced a cracked oil line, corrected rigging tension and borrowed the good Vickers feed block from a damaged aircraft.

Valette watched.

"You are stealing my SPAD."

"Temporarily."

"That is what everyone says when stealing aircraft."

At three thirty, Luc discovered the left magneto mounting bolts had been loosened.

Sabotage again.

Roche or whoever helped him had anticipated pursuit.

Luc tightened them and wired the heads together with locking wire.

Then he did something he had never done before.

He climbed into the cockpit.

Vautrin stared. "What are you doing?"

"Checking the throttle linkage under load."

"From the cockpit?"

"Unless you prefer I sit on the propeller."

He started the engine with assistance, felt the controls, listened to vibration through the frame.

For years Luc had diagnosed machines by touch from beside them. In the cockpit, every motion became amplified. The rudder bar pushed back through his boots. The control stick transmitted the breathing of the wings.

Vautrin leaned over the cockpit rim.

"You understand what she is saying?"

"Enough to know pilots mistreat machinery."

"That is affection."

They took off before dawn carrying Bellon's sealed packet in Vautrin's coat.

Luc remained on the field, watching the stolen SPAD shrink into darkness.

For twenty minutes all was quiet.

Then the telephone rang in headquarters.

German aircraft had been sighted approaching from the north.

The surviving pilots scrambled.

Luc looked toward the empty sky where Vautrin had gone south.

He had escaped the fight.

Then Perrin shouted from the field.

A SPAD was turning back.

Vautrin.

He had seen the enemy formation and returned.

"Idiot," Luc whispered.

The lieutenant landed, jumped out and thrust Bellon's packet at a motorcycle courier.

"Take this south. Do not stop."

Luc grabbed him. "You were supposed to reach headquarters."

"Six German two-seaters with escort are heading for the ammunition railway. We have four serviceable fighters."

"And evidence that men died to manipulate your victories!"

Vautrin pulled on his gloves.

"Which is why I cannot let a real German bombing raid succeed while I fly south to protect my reputation."

Luc wanted to hit him.

Instead he checked the fuel cap.

"If you die now, I will repair you badly."

Vautrin smiled.

"There is the mechanic I trust."

He climbed back into the SPAD.

For the first time since faking his death, Lieutenant Henri Vautrin took off in full view of the squadron.

Men stopped across the field.

Someone shouted, "Vautrin!"

The dead ace climbed toward the morning sun.