In which Dennis Meets Claude Laval, Pilote Aviateur
When Dennis awoke he saw Captain Bob looking at him, and he became
conscious of a very pleasant odour of coffee permeating the dug-out.
"Oh, I say, why didn't you turn me out before, old chap?" Dennis cried.
"I shall be late for the blooming inspection."
"Never mind about that," laughed his brother. "And it's no use looking
about for your duds; we've moved into new quarters over yonder, and all
our clobber's gone across, but I've had some breakfast brought in here
for you, so peg in, and tell me the whole story. There are some funny
yarns knocking about, and I left the governor doing a sort of war dance.
He only left out the whoop from deference to the B.M.'s feelings. But
all joking apart, old chap, the pater's in the very seventh heaven of
delight, for a letter has come from some wounded French officer who has
recommended you for the Military Medal."
Dennis sprang out of his bunk, fresh as paint, and flung himself on the
coffee and bacon ravenously, and while he ate he talked in his simple
boyish way, making light of his own share in the story, and Captain Bob,
filling in the gaps for himself, beamed like the rising sun which flung
a rosy glow into that dismal mud-hole.
"By Jove! old chap, I congratulate you heartily," he said, grasping his
brother by both shoulders. "If you go on like this you'll either go far,
or you'll be very suddenly nipped in the bud. You mustn't take too many
chances, Dennis, for the sake of the little mater at home. But this is
good news!"
"Some have greatness thrust upon them, and I've had the luck to be one
of those," said Dennis, looking rather ashamed of himself. "I did
nothing at all, old man, that you wouldn't have done, or any of our
crush. It just happened to come my way, and it just happened to come out
all right, but I don't know which was the worst--that ride with poor old
Thompson and that shell that blew us to smithereens, or Hawke's bomb.
They were tight places, both of them! And, I say, Bob, I'll swear on
oath it was Van Drissel or Von Dussel, or whatever he calls himself, who
pitched me down that ladder. I recognised his voice distinctly."
"I should like to recognise his ugly mug," said the captain. "But he
must have gone under, for he certainly wasn't among the prisoners. I saw
them all."
"Well, Bob, I'd rather have a wash now than the Victoria Cross itself,
and I must get into another tunic. Where's our new Little Grey Home on
the western front?"
"Come on," said his brother. "I'll show you."
The Germans had sunk a well deep down through the chalk, and there was a
stand-pipe close to the Dashwoods' new quarters.
Dennis stripped himself to the buff, and sallying out to the pipe,
enjoyed the unexpected luxury of a glorious shower-bath, which he
wanted badly. Then he dressed himself, appropriating the belts and
equipment of a poor youngster named Binks, who had been killed during
the raid, and, emerging from the door, almost ran into the arms of his
father and the Divisional General.
"You are the very man I have been looking for," said the general. "Let
me give you my heartiest congratulations, Mr. Dashwood. I have been in
communication this morning with the G.O.C., and I think there's another
slice of good luck coming your way. I wish I'd paid as much attention to
languages when I was your age."
For a moment Dennis failed to grasp the drift of his words, but the
Divisional Commander soon made himself quite clear.
"I had no sooner telegraphed a report of your doings from the commandant
of the 400th Regiment of the Line than a wire came back from Sir Douglas
Haig, who wants an intelligent officer with a fluent knowledge of
French, and he asked me if I thought you would fill the bill. I at once
answered in the affirmative, and you will go back with me in my car on
your way to Sir Douglas, and it may be a very good thing for you."
Dennis glanced at his father, and saw approval in his face, and after a
brief consultation between the generals about the consolidation of the
ground we had gained, Dennis found himself whirling along the familiar
road that he had traversed on the motorcycle two evenings before.
"I hope I shall be back in time for the big push, sir," he said, as the
car pulled up in front of D.H.Q., and the general smiled.
"You must leave that to circumstances," he replied. "I'm afraid the 'big
push,' as you call it, is becoming too much public property." And he
turned to an officer who was just mounting a motorcycle.
"One moment, Spencer," he called. "You going to Sir Douglas? Ah, yes, I
remember. Will you give Mr. Dashwood a lift and take him with you?"
There was a blanket strapped on the carrier, and away they whizzed, the
continued thunder of the guns making conversation difficult, and the
Allied aircraft circling high above their heads.
League after league they passed through a vast camp of armed men; brown
battalions marching up to the front singing as they marched, brigades
under canvas to right and left of them, miles of supply columns, some
cavalry eating their hearts out, kite balloon sections 'phoning results
to hidden batteries, all the seething mass of military activities to be
found behind the firing line.
And then his companion slowed down as they approached the quiet chateau,
where worked the keen, well-balanced brain that guided and controlled
all those activities, and Dennis found himself in the presence of Sir
Douglas Haig, who, after an interview of half an hour's duration, summed
up the result of it in a few brief soldierly words.
"You are the very man I was wanting, Mr. Dashwood," he said pleasantly.
"Your one object in life now is to find General Joffre, lay these
papers before him, and explain any point upon which the French
Generalissimo may be doubtful. Exactly where he is you will have to
discover, but if you are fortunate you should be back here again before
the end of the week."
"I hope to return well before that, sir!" said Dennis, and Sir Douglas
smiled.
"I know what is in your mind, Mr. Dashwood, but that will rest entirely
with yourself," said the Commander-in-Chief. "So far, from what I am
told, you seem to have surprisingly good luck. Good-bye, the car is
ready for you now."
The frank, handsome face of the distinguished cavalry soldier was still
before Dennis's eyes as the little six-cylinder motor, with the small
Union Jack fluttering from one of the lamp brackets, whirled him away on
a long journey and an important errand.
His driver was a young Frenchman, who enjoyed that mad dash every whit
as much as the English lad.
At Soissons they were told that the Generalissimo had left for Chalons
that morning, and at Chalons opinions were divided as to whether he
would be found at Reims, or Bar-le-Duc, which were in opposite
directions.
"Which shall we try?" said the driver. "Reims means going back."
"Then get ahead," decided Dennis. "We can always return." And opening
out the magnificent little car, they tore along the white ribbon of
road at terrific speed.
"Peste!" cried an officer to whom they made known the object of their
search when they reached Bar. "Only one hour ago Father Joffre passed
through here. How unfortunate! But I can tell you where you will find
him. He has gone to Saint Die to present medals to a battalion of the
'Little Blue Devils' at that place. Lose no time, and you may assist at
the very interesting ceremony."
"Allons!" said the chauffeur, using the stump of his nineteenth
cigarette to light the twentieth. "If we finish up on two wheels we will
reach him." And reach him they did in a small village half a dozen
leagues farther on, where they pulled up, white with dust from head to
foot, after a fine run.
The well-known figure of the famous general paced backwards and forwards
under the shade of a row of lime trees, in earnest conversation with
another officer with three silver stars on his cuffs, and Dennis paused
a moment as he got out of the car.
"I am going to put on two fresh front tyres," said his driver. "But I
shall be ready in half an hour, and if you are going back we have still
two hours of daylight left."
Dennis nodded, and stepped forward, saluting as the two generals turned
towards him, and a genial smile widened Father Joffre's good-humoured
visage.
"At your service, monsieur," he said, unable to distinguish the
officer's rank for the white chalk dust that hid his solitary star.
"I have come straight from Sir Douglas Haig, mon General," said Dennis,
presenting his dispatches, which General Joffre instantly opened and
perused intently.
"There are matters here," he said to his companion, "which will require
some consideration. You are the Lieutenant Dashwood whom Sir Douglas
mentions?" And he turned to Dennis: "I am going forward now, but I shall
be back in this place at eight o'clock to-morrow morning. Our officers
here will amuse you, mon lieutenant, in the meantime, and find you a
bed. I am greatly indebted to you for the rapidity with which you have
carried this most important document." And he walked quickly to the
powerful car which was waiting by the side of the road. He was gone in a
moment in a whirl of dust, the dispatch still in his hand, and the young
Frenchman followed the general's automobile with an envious look in his
eyes.
"That is a beauty," he said. "One could get seventy or eighty miles an
hour out of her. But here comes an interesting personality, monsieur.
This man who is approaching is Claude Laval, one of our most famous
aviators, who has brought down sixteen German machines already, and
killed fifteen enemy pilots. Something has vexed him too. He looks like
a bear with a sore ear."
A tall man approached, clad in leather flying costume, with a
close-fitting helmet on his head, and his thin, good-looking face bore
an expression of extreme annoyance.
"Ah, Martique, my friend, is that you?" he said, nodding curtly to the
chauffeur. "It is easy to see you have come from the other end of
everywhere. I suppose it is not possible that you have any news of my
brother?"
"If monsieur's brother is the Capitaine Felix Laval, _officier de
liaison_, with the --th Division, I can give you some news of him," said
Dennis, who had been struck by the strong resemblance between the
aviator and the man who had saved his own life.
"It is the same," said the aviator, all trace of ill-humour vanishing as
they shook hands. "Well, well," he continued after Dennis had told him
of his adventure and how he came to be acquainted with his brother. "Yon
will dine with me, and, _ma foi_, I want a good comrade to put me in a
better temper."
"Might I inquire what it is that troubles you?" said Dennis, as they
walked towards the door of a little restaurant with green-painted chairs
and tables outside it.
"Oh, it is too bad!" exclaimed his new acquaintance with a despairing
shrug of his shoulders. "I brought down a German Aviatik this afternoon,
and by the greatest good luck in the world it is absolutely unhurt.
To-night I had planned a little expedition across into the enemy's
country, a friendly visit to a Zeppelin shed, whose existence none of
our fellows are aware of. I have overhauled the engines myself; I have
got ten beautiful bombs all ready, and now my observer has broken his
arm, and I cannot find anyone to assist me."
Dennis looked at him with a pair of twinkling eyes.
"Could you be certain of returning to this village by eight o'clock in
the morning?" he said eagerly, "for I am to meet General Joffre here at
that hour. I hold an English pilot's certificate from the Hendon
school."
"_Embrassons nous!_ (let us embrace), my dear friend!" exclaimed Claude
Laval. "I am now the happiest man in all France. Listen! The machine is
at the edge of the wood not a kilometre from this spot, and the Zeppelin
hangar is in the centre of the Black Forest. Come, let us eat something
and drink a bottle of the good red wine. We will give the Boche a fine
surprise, and I swear to bring you back in plenty of time for Father
Joffre in the morning. Martique, remember, not a word to a living soul,
and come you to the cafe with us; you can attend to that sewing-machine
of yours after monsieur and I have gone on our little trip."
They dined in the open air, and the meal was a joyous one, Lieutenant
Claude Laval keeping a keen eye on the sinking sun at the same time.
* * * * *
As the red rim dipped into the jagged line of dark poplars on a low
ridge to westward Laval called for the bill, lit his pipe, and rose with
an air of supreme indifference for the benefit of the groups of other
officers at the adjoining tables, but his eyes spoke to Dennis as they
walked away into the shadow of the trees.
"Now, lieutenant," he said, with a fierce thrill of exultation in his
voice, "you know, of course, that old scoundrel, Count Zeppelin, stole
the idea of his invention during the war of '70. We will see if we can't
get a little of our own back to-night!"
[Illustration: "Dennis flung his bombs into the space, and tremendous
explosions ensued"]