Le Saboteur: IX.

Chapter IX.

Le Noir et le Blanc



“Gone? Gone where?”
“Gone West, that’s where. He was shot down during escort duty this afternoon.”
There was silence for a minute.
“But perhaps he made it down all right,” said Allison. “It happens lots of times, you know.”
“No,” said Hayes.
“Why not?”
Hayes made an impatient gesture.
“His ‘plane was on fire. I saw it burning as it went down.”
Allison looked at Woodward. Woodward looked away.
The door banged as Allison hurried outside. Out on the landing field the mechanics were going over the ‘planes just come in. There were four SPADs from “C” flight and one, Ross’s, from “A”. Randolph’s was gone.
Allison stared for a minute and then quickly turned and strode away from there. Crossing the yard, he met up with Perkins. Perkins looked embarrassed. “Did you hear the news, Allison?” he asked.
“Yes, I heard it.”
“Sorry for you.”
“For me?”
“Well—he was your friend.”
Perkins never knew why Allison looked at him so strangely nor why he turned and walked away without a word.
Allison entered a deserted hangar and sat down on the wing of a ‘plane. A mechanic was working at something outside. Another joined him and Allison heard their conversation through the thin board wall.
“’lo, Dobson.”
“Hello, yourself. What are you looking for?”
“Alan wrench. Did you hear the captain got his number called?”
“No, which?”
“Captain Randolph.”
A whistle. “Sorry I am to hear it; he was a good chap. One of the best.”
“That he was. Well, there’s one comfort—he made it to heaven if ever anybody did.”
“I’d say!”


Allison shook his head and tried to ignore the voices. Funny that he should be so cut up, he thought. He’d avoided Randolph for the past few days and suddenly he didn’t know what to do without him. Well, what of it? Men died all the time. They’d lost half a dozen men since Allison had first come to 11 squadron, and it hadn’t bothered him much. Randolph had just been unlucky, that’s all. Anyway, everybody dies sooner or later.
No, Randolph wasn’t so unlucky. After all, he was in heaven, wasn’t he? If there were such a place as heaven Randolph had surely gotten there. "Allison, you should be glad." But he wasn’t. Suddenly—too late—a hundred questions arose that he longed desperately to ask him.
In an instant there flashed to Allison’s mind the remembrance of Randolph as he stood in the road looking after Allison as he’d driven away that morning. What was it about the picture that made Allison abruptly bury his face in his palms and clench his hair between his fingers?
He got up at last and left the hangar. He walked aimlessly, not caring particularly where he went. His steps led him by force of habit to the barracks and up the stairs to the sleeping-quarters. Randolph’s bed was the one at the far end of the room under the window and the dim afternoon light shone down on it. Woodward had packed all Randolph’s personal effects in his rucksack to send home to the family as the last service he could do his friend.
Allison opened his wallet and took out the photograph he had picked up in town. The mother who had written that letter would like it, he thought. He took Randolph’s logbook from where it lay at the top of his rucksack and opened it to put the picture inside. There on the flyleaf was printed in Randolph’s neat handwriting, THE JUST SHALL LIVE BY FAITH.
* * *
There was a sharp rap on the door and Farnsworth put his head in.
“We go up in fifteen minutes, Allison,” he said. “See that you’re ready.”
Slowly Allison put on his flying togs and laced his boots, still struggling over the thoughts in his mind. The verses he had paid no attention to that Sunday he had knocked his chair over came back very clearly for some reason and went round and round in his head.
“For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ…bootlace is torn again. Ought to have bought new ones today in town. Can’t hardly even tie a knot, my hand’s so stiff. The joke’s on me if I can’t fire my guns….the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth…would it have made any difference if I’d gone on that flight? Of course not; don’t even think about that. What could I have done, anyway?…therein is the righteousness of God revealed from faith to faith…There’s the boots. Now for my flight helmet…THE JUST SHALL LIVE BY FAITH…Dash it all! Why can’t I get that out of my head? What does it mean? And what’s the use, anyhow?
The last of the sun was tipping the horizon as the evening patrol set out. There were two battles waged on that flight. One of them nobody but Allison ever knew about—a battle between good and evil which had him by both sides of his soul just as Randolph and Renhard had once had him by both sides of his collar.

Kearns was packing up his rucksack the next morning and whistling “Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag”.
“Going somewhere, Kearns?” asked Ross, entering the barrack-bedroom.
“To visit my brother in hospital.”
“Oh, that’s right; you told me that before, didn’t you? Well, I’d like several days out of here. It seems like ages since my last leave.”
“I’m sorry you’re not coming too,” said Kearns, trying to cheer him up. If he had known a thing or two, he would not have been so sorry.
“How soon do you have to leave?” asked Hayes, who was wondering how he would get along without his best friend for several days.
“In ten minutes. Hadley’s going to take me to the station. Anything you want while I’m in town?”
“I’ve a letter you can mail,” said Hayes, “and I think Allison may be out of cigarettes. At any rate I haven’t seen him smoking lately.”
“That explains why he’s so sulky,” said Ross, looking around to see that Allison wasn’t nearby to overhear. “I’ve never seen such an ill-tempered fellow!”
“He feels badly about the captain, I think,” said Hayes. “I would never have thought he cared so much for him.”
“Does he really?” asked Kearns. “He didn’t seem like that sort of chap.”
And Allison was elevated in the men’s opinions forthwith.
“Hullo, Finny,” said Renhard cheerily, coming in just then. “I brought a present for your brother Michael.”
“A box of cigars! That’s kind of you, Renhard; Michael will be indebted to you, but how did you know he smoked?”
Allison was walking past the door just then in a brown study. He glanced up sharply as he heard the last part of this conversation.
“Renhard always knows everything,” remarked Ross wisely.
He was interrupted by a whistle in the distance.
“That’s the train,” said Hayes. “It must be early. You’ll have to hurry if you want to make it in time.”
Kearns snatched up his rucksack and dashed out. Hadley was waiting in the barrack yard with the squadron motorcycle. Kearns climbed into the sidecar and made himself comfortable.
Just then Allison came up.
“I’ll drive him,” he said.
Hadley relinquished the motorcycle without protest. Kearns, however, wondered at Allison’s sudden friendliness. They drove along for a time keeping their own counsel, for the engine was too loud to talk over.
“It was good of you to drive me over, Allison,” said Kearns when they were obliged to stop at a crossroads to let a truck convoy pass.
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Allison.
Silence.
“By the way, Allison, I’m sorry about the black eye I gave you the other day.”
“Never mind that.”
“And I’m sorry about the soda-water too.”
“Forget about it. Mind if I have a cigar?”
“Cigar? Of course, if you want one.”
Kearns dug up his rucksack and began rummaging.
“Funny,” he said, “they got down to the bottom somehow. Go ahead,” he said, as the last truck passed. “I’ll look while you drive.”
Allison reluctantly started off again. The road to the decrepit station had never seemed so short before. Before Kearns, hampered by the bumpy road, could locate the cigar box among his uniforms and socks they had reached the station platform and the train was pulling out.
“No time, terribly sorry!” shouted Kearns as he dashed forward and swung himself onto the engine. Allison was left, watching the train cars rolling past.