Hope Takes Flight (27 page)

“I want to tell you something,” he said quietly. “Then you can tell me what you want to, or nothing at all.…”

He began his story, explaining that, when he had found out about her affair with von Richthofen, he had been blind with rage, and consumed with hatred and bitterness. Her eyes were fixed on him, and his own gaze did not waver as he confessed, “I would've killed him in a minute. In fact, it would have been a joy!”

And then Gavin went on to tell her about the young English nurse. “I've written you about Heather in my letters, but you'll have to meet her. There's nobody like her.…” He told her how Heather had prayed with him, and that, since that moment, he had not felt hatred for anybody. Then he described his last mission when he had refused to shoot down the parachutist. “On my way home, I wondered, ‘What if that had been von Richthofen? Would I have let him go?'” Gavin smiled. “That's when I knew for sure that something had really happened in my heart. I've found God is the only way to say it, I guess. Owen's always talking about it, and now I know what it's like.”

Gavin stared down at his hands for a moment, then looked up in wonderment. “I had no hatred for the man. When I heard he was dead, Lylah…as God is my witness…I felt nothing but grief.”

Lylah sat looking at him, mulling over his words. She got up suddenly and took a few cumbersome steps around the room, then came over to him, and he stood to meet her, cradling her in his arms until she began to weep.

She was a strong woman, Gavin knew, always had been. Strong to the point of rebellion at times. A woman who had to have her own way and would do whatever she must to get the desires of her heart. All his life Gavin had seen this in his sister, and now he saw that she had become entangled in something she could not handle.

“Gavin, what will I do?” she whispered, trembling. She was sobbing convulsively, and he held her until the spell of weeping was over and she took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes. Then she looked up at him. “They tried to get me to get rid of it…my baby,” she said. A fierce light came into her eyes and she lifted her chin defiantly. “But I wouldn't do it. I could never do a thing like that…never!”

“I'm glad,” Gavin said simply. “You did the right thing.”

“But what comes now?” she asked. She bit her lip and with a piteous look in her eyes, she said, “He'll be no one's child. I can't give him his father's name. The von Richthofens wouldn't want him. He'll be no one's child.”

And then Gavin Stuart proved that he was a man of understanding and compassion.

Putting his hand on his sister's slight shoulders, Gavin smiled broadly. “He'll be a Stuart, Lylah,” he said.

His words were like a lifeline to her. It had been as if she were drowning, going down, down, with no hope. Suddenly her brother's statement brought life, and hope, and joy.

Lylah smiled back at him. “Yes. Yes, Gavin, that's what he'll be.” She whispered again the phrase he had used. “He'll be a Stuart.”

L
ieutenant Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, Jr. was sitting down with his back to a tree, eating beans out of a tin plate. He hadn't shaved for several days, and his tin hat was pulled down almost over his eyes. But when he looked up and smiled at his visitor, he looked very much like his famous father, the former president.

“Mr. Stuart, my father's told me a great deal about you.” Colonel Roosevelt nodded. “Sit down and have some beans.”

Amos Stuart sat down, accepted a plate, and began to eat hungrily. “Thank you, Colonel,” he said, talking over a mouthful of beans. “I hate to be a hog, but I haven't had anything to eat all day.”

Amos had come to find Owen and had been pleased to find that the battalion commander was none other than the son of his old friend, Theodore Roosevelt. All around them, soldiers were busy checking their gear, eating as they worked.

Colonel Roosevelt gave Amos an odd look. “You came at a pretty bad time, Mr. Stuart. Maybe you don't know what's happening.”

“Only vaguely, Colonel,” Amos admitted. “I did hear that General Pershing is sending General Bullard with the First Division to plug the gap here.”

“That's right.” Roosevelt took a swallow of water from a canteen, then spat it out. “Bad stuff! No wonder they drink wine over here!” Then he looked across the field where a line of trees filled a low-lying ridge and nodded. “That's our next objective over there—Cantigny. We've got to take it, General Bullard says.”

“Must make you feel pretty good, Colonel, being picked to lead the first Americans in France into action. Your father will be proud of you.”

The reference to his father seemed to embarrass Roosevelt, and Amos was sorry he'd mentioned it. “I don't know about proud,” Roosevelt said briefly. “I know it's going to be quite a chore. The Germans are holed up pretty thick in there, our scouts say.”

The two men chatted while they ate. At length Amos put down his empty plate. “I hate to ask favors, Colonel, but I've got a brother in your command.…”

“You'll want to see him, then,” Roosevelt interjected. “He's not an officer, I take it?”

“No, he's a corporal. His name is Owen Stuart.”

“I don't know him, but I'll have my adjutant locate him and escort you to him. You'd better see him pretty quickly, though,” he added hurriedly. “We'll be pulling out early in the morning to take that town over there.”

“Thank you, Colonel. And God be with you.”

Amos followed a lieutenant appointed by the colonel and soon found himself weaving his way through the clusters of soldiers. Walking up to a tall officer, his escort said, “Lieutenant Masters, this is Amos Stuart, war correspondent from New York. His brother's in your company, isn't he?”

Masters nodded. “Yes.” He put out his hand, “Glad to see you, Mr. Stuart. Come along and we'll see if we can find your brother.”

Amos thanked the officer who had brought him over and followed Masters past a spot where a small group of men was busy assembling a machine gun. “How's my brother doing, Lieutenant Masters?” Amos asked as they made their way along.

Masters hesitated, scanning the groups of men around them. “Uh…not too well,” he said finally. He stopped and turned to face Amos. “He's the best shot in the battalion and as tough as any…but we had a little action a while back, and some of the men got the idea that your brother is a little bit…well, timid. Nothing to it, probably,” he said hurriedly, “but I thought you ought to know. Sergeant Stone and I are keeping an eye on him, and I'm sure he'll be all right.”

Masters moved on, and as they walked over to the group of men, Amos felt a keen disappointment. He could not understand it, for he knew Owen was as brave as any man. But there was no time to question the lieutenant any further, for the officer had called out, “Corporal Stuart! Visitor here to see you! Drop back by the headquarters if you like, Mr. Stuart. Like to get my name in those New York papers.” He grinned broadly then went back along the lines.

“Amos! What in the world are you doing here?” Owen exclaimed.
He looks trim and brown and fit,
Amos thought.
But then, he always did.

“I just came for a visit. And to get a story, maybe.” He looked across the line toward Cantigny. “Understand you're going to take a little walk over that way tomorrow.”

Owen nodded. “Looks like it. C'mon and meet the fellas.”

“All right. But tell me first, is everything okay? With you, I mean.”

Owen looked up suddenly, his bright blue eyes steady. “Been hearing things, Amos?” he asked quietly. Noticing his brother's hesitation, he shrugged. “Eddy got the idea that I was a little slow getting into the fight we had a while back.” He stopped, gazing out into the distance. “He may be right. I
was
slow. Don't know yet if it's something permanent or if it'll go away.”

Amos knew his brother very well. He saw that this thing was troubling him greatly, although he was trying hard not to let it show. He slapped Owen on the shoulder. “You'll be all right. We Stuarts are slow starters, that's all.”

Owen's face was very sober and serious. “I don't know, Amos. A man never knows what he is 'til he's tried. And when the bombs started going off and the bullets started flying, something seemed to happen to me. They say some men just don't have it. I hope I don't turn out to be one of those.” Before Amos could speak, Owen said, “C'mon, let's go see some of the guys.”

Sergeant Stone caught Amos's eye at once. This man, Amos knew, was a fighter, despite the prematurely white hair. He shook his hand warmly. “Glad to know you, Sergeant. You're a regular, I bet.”

“That's right, Mr. Stuart. Growed up as a cowboy in Texas and turned out to be a soldier.” He nodded slowly. “These here youngsters seem like babies to me.”

Tyler Ashland, whom Amos met next, did look like a baby—plump and rosy-cheeked, with innocent blue eyes. He was very eager to meet Amos. “Your brother and I are real good friends. We've been together ever since we came across the Pond.”

Kayo Pulaski grinned at Amos. “Get my name right, Mr. Stuart. When I get back, I'm gonna become heavyweight champion of the world, and I want the folks to get ready for me.” He spelled his name carefully and Amos nodded, promising with a smile that he would be in the story.

As they were talking, another man joined the group and Amos looked up to see Eddy Castellano staring at him. “Hello, Eddy. I saw your brother a few days before I left.”

“He still sore about my joinin' the army?” Eddy grinned. With a cocky look he added, “Tell him when you go back I'm learnin' how to shoot straight. That oughta help in the family business.”

Amos blinked in surprise at the casual reference to the gangster activities of the Castellano family. When he hesitated, Eddy laughed. “Don't worry. Tell Nick that when I get back, I'll be able to take over all the heavy-duty stuff.”

Amos stood there listening, making mental notes for the story he would write. He knew the real story would be here, with these foot soldiers, not with the generals. Intuitively, he also knew that most of them were afraid. All except Eddy, at least, and maybe Pulaski, for some of the younger men went a little bit pale when Eddy said, “I wish we could go after them Krauts right now! Can't wait to blast 'em outta that place!”

“May be a little bit tough.” Stone shrugged. “They've had plenty of time to get nestled in.”

“Won't be no trouble for us, Sarge.” Eddy grinned, his gaze falling on Owen. He started to say something, then glanced at Amos and thought better of it.

Amos chatted with the young men for a while. Later on, when he was ready to leave, he had a chance to talk to Eddy. “I'll tell your brother I saw you. Any word you want to send home?”

Eddy shook his head. “Naw, this thing'll be over pretty soon and I'll be back.” Then he narrowed his eyes and glared at Amos. “Nick says you're a pretty straight guy. But Owen, that brother of yours, he's a phony! I never had any use for preachers anyhow. And he's showed he's got a yellow streak a mile wide. If I was you, I'd take him outta here if you can work it. Old man Hearst ought to have some pull.” He glanced over where Owen was talking with Tyler Ashland and shrugged. “Them two sissies…I ain't worried about
them,
but they could get the rest of us killed. The guy beside you is real important out here.”

Amos hesitated, then said, “You're wrong about Owen, Eddy. I never saw a man with any more nerve than my brother.”

“Yeah, he was a fighter, I know, but facin' a fist is different from facin' bullets. He just ain't got it, Amos. Try to get him outta here if you can, 'fore he gets the rest of us hurt.”

Amos saw that the young man's mind was made up and left him with a brief salute. Walking back toward the waiting car with Owen, Amos talked of home, carefully avoiding mentioning the fight to come. Finally he said, “Well, good-bye, Owen. I've got to get back. I'll see you in a few days, I hope. I'll be right behind the troops here…along with the generals.” He grinned and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “God wouldn't have brought you here unless he had a purpose behind it. So you just watch out for yourself, Owen. It'd be a pretty grim world for me without you. I've always been proud of you. You know that?”

“Guess it's really the other way around,” Owen muttered. “I've always been proud of you and looked up to you, Amos. Don't worry about me. I'll be all right. And thanks for reminding me why I'm here.”

Something about the harsh tone of his voice caused Amos to search his brother's face carefully. “Now wait a minute. Don't go getting yourself killed just to prove you're not a coward.”

Owen shook his head. “Tell Dad and the others I'm missing them. And you take care of yourself. And,” he hesitated, uncertainty clouding his eyes, “if anything does happen, watch out for Allie and Joey for me, will you, Amos?”

“Well, sure, I'd do that, but…”

Owen turned away. “Thanks a lot,” he said over his shoulder and walked back to the group.

Amos got into the car and drove slowly to a position behind the lines. All the time he was thinking,
Owen's just the kind of guy who would do something crazy to prove a point. I hope he doesn't try it this time.

At dawn on May 28, four thousand Americans of the First received their orders: “Come on, boys!” A deadly artillery barrage, striking about twenty-five yards ahead of their front ranks, supported the advance. Across the chewed-up ground they moved, infantry and machine gun companies spraying lead and spewing rifle fire.

The fight was bitter and sharp, but brief, and the Eighteenth Infantry did not really get into it. When the battle let up, there was time to rest and regroup, and that night there was cheer in the camp.

Sergeant Stone remained cautious, however. “Tomorrow morning,” he said to his squad, “we'll catch it.”

“Ah, the Jerries are finished,” Eddy said airily. “They're still runnin'.”

Sergeant Stone knew better. His mouth tightened into a firm line. “That kind of thinking will get you killed, Castellano.”

Mack Stone proved to be a prophet, for on the next day, May 29, every German gun within range began pounding Cantigny. Owen and the rest of the squad took shelter where they could; avoiding the buildings, for fear of being buried alive. The barrage continued. Then Lieutenant Sam Masters came running along the line, screaming, “Come on! They're coming in!”

Stone whipped around, checked his rifle, and shouted an order. “Get set, you guys! This is where you earn your money!”

As the Eighteenth Battalion rushed forward they saw wave after wave of German soldiers, a gray tide coming against them, in the heaviest counterblow of all. Owen had no time to consider whether he would fight or run, for there was nowhere to run. Stone led the men forward, moving from point to point, throwing a deadly fire on the German troopers in the front lines. Men were dropping on both sides of Owen, and he saw one of his good friends—J. T. Donaldson, whom everybody called “The Professor”—suddenly stand up, sigh, and fall to the ground, the front of his uniform a mass of blood. His glasses fell beside him. He had taught English in college, and his wife and son had died with the flu. And now he was dead.

Tyler Ashland ran up to pull at Donaldson's tunic, but Owen called him back. “He's dead, Tyler. C'mon, nothing we can do for him now.”

The fight raged on, and Owen and Tyler found themselves separated from the squad for a time. “Where are they?” Tyler cried out, his mild blue eyes glassy with fear. “I don't see them, Owen! We've gotta get out of here! We're going to be surrounded!”

“Take it easy, Tyler,” Owen said calmly. “They've gone around the point. We'll just move forward and find them later on.”

Over to the left, Sergeant Stone and the rest of the squad had found themselves commandeered by Lieutenant Sam Masters, who barked, “Stone, take as many men as you can and get to that point over by those rocks! Look! The Germans are throwing their full weight there! We've got to stop them!”

Obeying the order instantly, Stone yelled, “Machine guns! Get the machine gun!”

Eddy and the others began to advance, throwing themselves behind rocks and trees, firing steadily as the Germans continued to pour across the field. It was a bloody, violent fight, and it went on for over an hour.

Suddenly Eddy heard Sam Masters say, “We've gotten cut off!”

As Masters stood up to look, a bullet took him in the throat. He fell to the ground, gasping for air, but it was too late. He bled to death in a few seconds and lay still. Down the line, Stone hollered, “Lieutenant! Lieutenant!”