Germany's Reply to In Flanders Fields

Dedicated to John McCrea and all who lie In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row
That mark your dead; and in the sky
We Germans, dominant, still fly
Our guns are still well heard below.

You are the Dead; long days ago
You lived, felt hunger, cold and snow
We hated you and now you lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up your quarrel with us, foe
For from your failing hands we throw
The torch; `twas yours to hold it high
And yet we break your faith, you die
And shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

In Flanders fields poppies blow
While we look on, we cannot know
Why it is thus; why to the world
From failing hands a torch is hurled
And lifted high: Are we to go
And die; in Flanders fields?

Le Saboteur: VI.

Chapter VI.
La Bagarre


“Not eating supper, Allison?” asked Hayes one evening.
“No.”
“Is it your tooth bothering you again?” asked Kearns sympathetically.
Allison replied by giving him a sour look.
“I thought the major told you not to throw your cigarette stubs around,” said Garrett.
“I reckon I can throw them wherever I please,” said Allison hotly.
His tooth was bothering him, which made him crosser than usual.
“It’s a dangerous habit,” remarked Ross.
“So is smoking in bed,” said Kearns who, for all he wanted to stay on Allison’s good side, could not resist the temptation of sharing an anecdote. “I once heard of a man who burned the house down smoking in bed.”
“I only do it to keep warm since you insist on having the window open all night,” said Allison, although he knew quite well that he did not only smoke in bed at night.
“I only keep the window open because you smoke.”
“Dah,” said Allison, who could not think of anything else to say.
“I wouldn’t say smoking is so very bad as my brother Michael does it,” continued Kearns. “It’s just that it ought to be done in moderation, like everything else.”
“Pass the salt,” interjected Renhard.
Allison was sick of being sermonized on his smoking and said so.
“Then don’t throw your cigarette ends about,” said Garrett.
Supper being over, most of the men dispersed to different parts of the barracks. Besides Renhard and Allison, Kearns and Hayes remained, as did Woodward, who was still eating.
“Ruddy job, that balloon-strafing, isn’t it?” asked Renhard of nobody in particular. “Did you get yours down, Allison?”
“No.”
“Too bad. How many passes did you make?”
“How many was I supposed to make? I made one.”
“You should go back again if it doesn’t catch fire the first time,” Kearns interposed, forgetting for the moment his resolve to keep Allison in a good mood. “Make as many passes as you can, so that at least the balloon will be full of holes and they’ll have to repair it.”
“I couldn’t make another pass,” replied Allison defensively. “I was surrounded by Archie and ground fire.”
“So were all of us. It’s part of balloon-strafing. That’s why lots of men won’t go on that kind of job, and I can’t say I blame them.”
“Well I went on it, so you can’t say I’m afraid,” said Allison, bridling.
“I didn’t,” said Kearns. “You needn’t get all upset.”
“Well, you practically did.”
“No I didn’t.”
“He did, didn’t he, Renhard?”
“No I didn’t—did I, Hayes?”
“If you think I’m a coward why don’t you have it out with me?” asked Allison, starting up.
“Anytime you choose,” retorted Kearns, leaping to his feet.
“All right, gentlemen,” said Woodward sternly. “That’s enough.”
“If you think I’m going to accept an insult from a dirty Irishman—” began Allison.
“A what?” cried Kearns. “You’ll pay for that, all right!”
But he had no need to protect himself for Hayes popped up like a peppercorn in defense of his friend.
“You will watch your language, Allison,” he said, “and you will take back what you said about Kearns, here.”
The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back with a bloody nose and Allison was standing smugly observing him. Allison did not enjoy his victory for long, though.
“Bully!” cried Kearns, hitting Allison a solid right to the jaw, and Allison found himself, after a moment of confusion, at the opposite side of the room with his head spinning. Kearns leaped upon him and Allison, rallying, threw him off and sent him smashing into a table and upsetting several chairs.
At this the other men in the room came to life. Renhard leaped to his feet shouting “that’s the stuff!” Hayes made a move to rush at Allison but Woodward caught him by the back of his Sam Browne belt and hauled him into a chair.
“That’s enough! Break it up!” he shouted to the other two, but they paid no attention.
Kearns had recovered and leaped at Allison again and the two lay struggling on the floor in a confusion of arms and legs. The next minute they were on their feet again and objects went flying about as they fought from one side of the room to the other. Woodward bravely attempted to break up the fight several times but was thrown back each time with several bruises. Hayes and Renhard were no help at all for each cheered his respective favorite and it was all Woodward could do to keep them out of the fight itself.
At last Kearns hit Allison a good one and sent him reeling through the open door into the arms of Randolph who had opened it preparatory to coming in.
“Hullo? What’s all this?” he said.
The major was right behind him, for he had been out inspecting several malfunctioning engines.
“What’s going on?” he asked, although it was perfectly obvious.
He looked at Kearns and Allison. Kearns had the good grace to look ashamed of himself.
“Lts. Allison and Kearns, report to my office immediately,” said the major and went into it himself.
The two culprits reluctantly followed. The rest of the men looked at each other in dismay. They had been expecting something like this, but it made the incident no less dreadful when it actually happened.
There had been disagreements between the men before. Kearns, in fact, from a mixture of his lively tongue and Irish temper, had fallen out at least once with nearly everybody at the airdrome (save Woodward, who never said enough to argue with anyone). But then, Kearns was such a good-hearted fellow that he would never be angry with anybody for long and any quarrels were soon made up. But a fight—there had never been an all-out fight at the airdrome. There had been friendly tussles among the men, but Kearns and Allison had certainly not been friendly. The way that they had gone at each other you would have thought it was a hand-to-hand combat in the trenches.
Ten minutes passed and Allison and Kearns emerged from the major’s office looking slightly deflated. Pitt followed them out.
“Captain Woodward and Captain Randolph,” he said politely, “the major would like to see you for a moment if you don’t mind.”
“Ah, yes, you two,” the major said when they had entered. “I’d like a word with you. This is bad business, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, sir,” said the two captains.
The major sighed.
“Well, how did it start? I was unable to get a straight answer from those two. You were present, I think, Woodward?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well?”
“I don’t like to say for sure,” said Woodward, “but I believe Allison is to blame. He made a point out of an insignificant remark of Kearns’s.”
“Insignificant, eh? Is this their first disagreement?”
Randolph and Woodward looked at each other without saying anything.
“Randolph, you’re their flight leader. Have you had any trouble with them before?” asked the major.
“I have noticed Allison dislikes Kearns, sir.”
“Does he? Why?”
Randolph hesitated.
“I think it’s because he has a prejudice against the Irish, sir.”
“Are you sure?”
“He as much as said so several times.”
“I see.”
The major knit his brows.
“This is a serious offense in light of the last order,” he said. “If I could only be sure Allison started it. Kearns apparently came out of the fight on top and that looks bad. I hate to lose two good men at once, but I’ve no choice but to report the matter to General Headquarters. I only hope they realize our desperate situation and adopt a lenient course of action.”
He took up his pen and cleaned it.
“Thank you, gentlemen, that is all; dismissed.”
They departed.

There was no living with Allison after that incident. Kearns, afraid of the punishment for fighting, stayed as far away from him as possible and the rest of the men, fed up with his sulks, tacitly ignored him. In fact, the only two who made any effort at being nice to him were Randolph and Renhard.
“I don’t see why you can’t play a game of cards or something instead of just sitting there looking mad,” said Renhard, addressing the reprobate behind one of the hangars the next afternoon.
“I hate bridge.”
“Who says you have to play bridge? Whist’s a good game, or rummy, or solitaire… all right, maybe not, but what’s the good in moping? Thinking over losing that fight won’t change anything.”
Allison threw his cigarette away viciously.
“Why don’t you mind your own business?” he asked.
“Mind my own business? You’re the one who’s always following me about everywhere.”
Allison looked taken aback.
“I following you about?” he asked lamely.
“You’re not exactly a professional sneak, old boy.”
“Well, you’re a sneak anyway. What where you doing in the major’s office earlier?”
“Would you believe me if I told you I forgot something in there?” asked Renhard.
“No.”
“Ahh, I didn’t think you would.”
“You’re a spy aren’t you?” Allison demanded. “I suspected you from the first. What’s your real name?”
“Reinhardt.”
Allison nearly fell over backwards. He had expected Renhard to of course deny it, but there he sat, looking calmly at Allison as if he had just said any ordinary thing.
“Oh—really? Well, what’s your first name?” asked Allison, recovering himself.
“Berthold, you snoop, and yes, I used to have a moustache.”
Allison glanced around. There was nobody nearby and the few fellows working about the airdrome were too far away to hear the conversation.
“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked. “What’s your game?”
“Game?” asked Renhard innocently.
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll rat on you?”
“Oh, no. I’m not worried about you.”
“Why not? What’s to keep me from blabbing?”
“Why should you blab? How would it profit you?”
“Profit me? Why, why should I let a dirty skunk like you get away? You’d probably turn us all in to the Huns.”
“So?”
Allison stared, too confused to argue further.
“What makes you think,” Renhard continued, “that the Germans are bad and the Americans good? What has America ever done for you?”
“Nothing, but—”
“So what do you owe it?”
Silence.
“Besides, I need your help. I meant to let you in the know sooner or later or, believe me, you wouldn’t be around now to spill the beans. I knew what you were up to, snooping in my rucksack.”
“You mean you would have murdered me?”
“One can’t be too scrupulous in my job. Yes, you would have met with an ‘accident’.”
“What made you think I would help you?”
“Let’s say I’m a good judge of human character. Besides, I happen to know a piece of information that will send you to the quarries for two weeks: Dupond—remember?”
“I’m in trouble for that fight yesterday too, you know.”
“Well, if you want me to spill my information that’s all very well but it knocks out any hope that HQ will be lenient with you. And you’ll owe a pretty penny for wrecking that bar, too.”
“Look,” said Allison, “I don’t care a hang for America—never did. But I still can’t go against the others.”
“So you’ll turn me in instead, eh? You owe me more than any of them.”
“That is true…”
Renhard could see him wavering.
“There’s money in it too—two thousand dollars, if you choose to be of assistance.”
“Look here,” said Allison, his color mounting, “friendship’s one thing, but if you think I’ll turn traitor for pay, you—”
But Renhard knew how to play a trump.
“No I don’t think so,” he said. “I don’t even think you’d do it to save your own skin, but I know you’ll do what I want because it’s the chance you’ve been waiting for—to get even with a certain person.”
An evil look came into Allison’s eye.
“Can’t talk here,” he said.
He glanced over at the armory.
“Come on,” he said, getting up.
The two men entered the low building and shut and bolted the door.
“Now,” said Allison, “you were saying…”

Le Saboteur: V.

Chapter V.
Voir Clair

The men all turned around when Allison came downstairs the next morning. This was because of the odd noise his feet made. He had his boot on one foot but on the other only a blue army sock. Everybody was rather surprised, for it wasn’t like Allison to play practical jokes.
“I say, Allison,” said Garrett, “what’s this? One shoe on and one shoe off, diddle diddle dumpling, my son—well anyway, what happened to your other boot?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Allison disagreeably.
Kearns’s face grew suddenly red.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot. I picked it up by accident last night. It’s under my bed.”
They all expected Allison to go and get it like a sensible fellow, but instead he stood there, his face working in dreadful contortions.
“Well, if that isn’t just like a thieving Irishman!” he exclaimed.
“What do you mean by that?” asked Kearns, leaping up; “I’d like to know what you mean by that, sir?”
Randolph caught him by the shoulder and forced him back into his chair.
“None of that, now,” he said. “We’re all friends here.”
We will do him the justice of supposing that he, at least, believed this—otherwise I am sure he would not have said it. Certainly nobody who could see Allison’s face at that moment would have believed it.
But Randolph wasn’t looking at Allison just then; he was looking at Kearns and his look said, “I’m counting on you, now.”
Kearns turned away and began to fiddle with the pieces on the chess board, and Allison, seeing nothing would come of further argument, turned and stormed back upstairs for his boot. “C” flight had a patrol that morning so the two combatants did not have another chance to renew the quarrel and the rest of the squadron supposed it had blown over.
“That’s fourteen holes in the fuselage alone. I call it scandalous,” said Renhard as he and Allison looked over their airplanes after returning from the mission.
“Bosches can shoot all right, I guess,” said Allison.
“Not that, I mean it’s scandalous that headquarters sends 11 squadron on all the dangerous missions. Why, we’ve had three balloon jobs this week!”
“I should think you’d be glad,” remarked Allison. “You haven’t gotten a single kill to your score yet.”
“I’ll get one,” said Renhard significantly.
“By the way, I found something of yours the other night,” said Allison, pulling the wax can from his pocket. “Couldn’t find you before supper and then I forgot about it.”
“That’s mine, all right. Thanks.”
“What do you use it for, since you don’t have a moustache?”
“Actually, it was a good-bye present.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. Come to think of it, maybe I will grow a moustache sometime. It might look nice. Distinguished, you know,” said Renhard, surveying himself in his pocket mirror.
Allison thought that he certainly couldn’t look any worse.
“Did you ever work with telephones, Renhard?”
“What? Telephones? No, I can’t say that I have; why?”
“I just wondered. I guess you wouldn’t know how one worked, then?”
“I might be able to figure out. Do you want to make a telephone call? Long distance to New York, maybe?”
“No. Just curious.”
A few yards away Randolph stood, watching Blundy, one of the mechanics, work on the engine of his SPAD which was having problems again. Kearns was nearby keeping him company and Randolph hoped he would stay in sight, as he did not want him getting into trouble again with Allison.
“I think it’s the carburetor,” said Randolph. “That’s what it was last time, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Blundy wearily. “The carburetor and the magneto and the oil pump—and this pipe is leaking, too. These new engines are nothing but junk.”
“That’s the trouble with these SPADS,” said Kearns. “I rather liked the old Nieuports, if it weren’t for the bad wings. You can’t have everything, I suppose.”
“No, nothing’s ever perfect,” agreed Randolph. “At least we’ve had good flying weather lately. One can’t complain of that.”
“Yes, my togs have finally dried out,” said Kearns. “What kind of bird would you say that is, Randolph?”
“What bird?”
“Why that one on the armory. Right there.”
“I can’t see it,” said Randolph.
He wondered why Kearns and Blundy looked at him so strangely.
“Carry on, Blundy, I’ve a letter to write,” he said hastily and hurried toward the barracks.
He was rather disappointed, when he got to the bedroom to find Allison there. To be sure, Allison spent most of his spare time in that room, seeming to consider it his private club.
“Why don’t you go down and watch the chess game, Allison?” Randolph suggested.
“Chess?” said Allison. “Can you think of anything duller?”
“Well, lying in bed smoking seems a very dull pursuit in my opinion.”
Allison made no reply to this except to blow a smoke ring. Randolph resolved to ignore him and fished out his letter writing things. He wrote for several minutes, but soon enough he laid aside his pencil and looked over at Allison who still lay in the same attitude.
Poor fellow, he thought. There must be something wrong with him to make him shun other people’s company so much. Funny that he doesn’t seem to mind mine. Perhaps I’d better be civil and talk to him a bit.
“I say,—Allison,” he said. He had made an effort to say “Roger” but could not quite manage that degree of familiarity.
“What?”
“What is it between you and Kearns?”
Allison raised one eyebrow.
“I mean, why don’t you like him?”
“I never said I didn’t like him.”
“But it’s quite obvious.”
“Then perhaps the cause is obvious as well.”
Randolph ruminated over this for a minute and decided to change the subject.
“You said you were from Arkansas, right?”
“Yes.”
“What’s it like there?”
“Well, it’s dry, sort of. Gets rather hot in summer, too.”
“Is it pretty?”
“I don’t know, I guess so.”
“What did you use to do before the war began? Occupation, I mean.”
“Oh, all sorts of things. I never stayed at the same job very long. I used to help out on farms when I was a kid. I worked on the railroad a little and for a dry-goods store for a few months. I was working for the telephone company before I joined up. That was a good job. I hope they’ll take me back after the war.”
“I worked on a farm too. My uncle’s. We were going to go into it shares when the war started. We raise beef cattle.”
“Oh?” asked Allison.
“Yes, Herefords. Of course my uncle doesn’t make much money, but it’s a fine job all the same. He lives in Pennsylvania, you know, in the foothills. It’s a beautiful place. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been to Pennsylvania?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well, I think I’d like to spend all my life there—after the war, you know. I used to get up early in the morning and climb one of the mountains nearby. Not really very big for a mountain, I suppose, but it gave you a fine view of the valley for miles. I’m not boring you, am I?”
“No, go on.”
“Well, it’s a beautiful place, as I said. I and my brothers used to stay at the farm every summer when we were little fellows. Do you have any brothers?”
“Yes. Two.”
“Are they enlisted as well?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t know?” asked Randolph in surprise.
Allison tossed away his cigarette stub impatiently.
“Look, my mother died when I was seven,” he said. “Me and my brothers were all farmed out to different relatives. I haven’t seen them since.”
“Oh.”
Randolph sat staring at his letter without really seeing it.
“You were raised by relatives?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“An aunt and uncle?”
“I was passed around from relation to relation. I got sick of it after a while and ran away.”
Randolph was quiet for a minute. He wrote a sentence in his letter and then erased it.
“You know Allison,” he said. “If you can’t get that telephone job again after the war, you can come work the farm with my uncle and me.”
For the first time Allison looked touched.
“It’s kind of you, but I was never much for farming,” he said.
“Well, you’ll stop by if you’re ever up that way, won’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“Here; let me write the address out for you.” (silence for a moment) “Here you are—you know, just in case you’re ever in Pennsylvania.”
“Thanks,” said Allison hoarsely, and taking the paper, he went out.
Woodward seemed to have been waiting outside the door for him to leave, for he entered immediately afterwards and looked around the room to make sure that nobody else was about.
“I’d like to speak to you for a moment, Quentin, if you don’t mind,” he said.
“Of course, Frank, what is it?”
Woodward sat down on one of the beds and tried to begin. He wasn’t much good at speaking his mind.
“Are you sure you’ve been feeling all right lately? Not too tired, or anything?”
“I feel fine.”
“Yes well, but you don’t feel as if you needed a rest? Leave, or something like that?”
Randolph was surprised at Woodward’s unwonted verbosity.
“Why, I’ve been a little more tired than usual, but not more than any of the rest of us. Why?”
It took Woodward so long to speak again that Randolph went back to his letter writing and finished three more sentences.
“Well,” Woodward said after awhile, “—well, I worry about you, Quent. You take too many chances.”
“Do I?” asked Randolph in surprise. “I suppose I do, a little. The fact is, in a dogfight I forget about everything but getting the other fellow down.”
“But you might be just a bit more cautious,” said Woodward. “Hold back, you know.”
“I just can’t seem to, Frank.”
“Well, why not? You don’t care about your record, so what do you do it for?”
“Didn’t you ever want to make your father proud of you?” asked Randolph.
Woodward looked surprised.
“Your father doesn’t think so much of you because you’re the youngest?” he said.
“Oh no, Father’s not like that at all, he loves us all the same; it’s just that I’d do anything for him and—and—he counts on us. He expects us all to do our best and I can’t let him down.”
Randolph got and strode up and down the room. How could he explain to Woodward how he felt? Woodward had never met his father.
“You wouldn’t understand, I suppose, Frank, but—Father’s not like anyone else. The boys at school used to say we worshiped him. We didn’t really. We only thought him the grandest man in the world—which he is. When I think of him I just feel as if I’d got to go out and give it all I’ve got.”
“Well, you never go things halves,” said Woodward. “I don’t think I’d like you so much if you did. It was Kearns and Hayes who talked me into speaking to you about it.”
“What? Did they talk to you about it?” asked Randolph, sitting down again.
“Yes. I think it was that time you went off after that German jasta that worried them, and really, I don’t see what you did it for.”
He ended on a period, but there was a question in his voice. Randolph fidgeted.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he said.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Randolph cleared his throat and glanced guiltily at Woodward. Seeing that he was not going to say anything, Randolph was forced to continue.
“You see, it’s my eyes. I’m near-sighted. I thought those were our ‘planes.”
Woodward stared at him.
“I didn’t want anyone to know,” said Randolph when he could stand the silence no longer.
“How are your eyes?”
“Not so good. And I think they’ve been getting worse lately. I have a pain in them sometimes.”
“How did you pass the eye examination?” asked Woodward.
“Memorized the chart.”
Randolph looked up at Woodward.
“You won’t tell anyone, will you? I might lose my wings.”
Woodward sat staring at his hands. At last he got up and strode over to Randolph.
“Don’t worry,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I won’t tell anyone. You’ll kill yourself one of these days, Quentin, but I won’t tell anyone.”