Читать онлайн «The Bloody Red Baron»

Автор Ким Ньюман

The Bloody Red Baron

Kim Newman

To Paul McAuley

'It'll be over by Christmas. '

Mechanical contrivances have been greatly exaggerated in comparison with the value of infantry. There must also be artillery and cavalry as well!

... Each war has certain special conditions so some modification of organisation will be necessary but if our principles are sound, these will be few and unimportant. The longer the War has gone on, the more satisfactory do the principles of our training manuals appear.

Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig, 1918

This little book gives one a useful insight into the enemy's methods, and more than a little respect for at any rate some of those whom we are at present endeavouring to kill.

C. G. Grey, Preface to the first British edition of Manfred von Richthofen's The Red Air Fighter, 1918

Part One: All Quiet on the Western Front

Condor Squadron

Four miles from the lines, heavy guns sounded as a constant rumble. Cakes of frozen snow gleamed vaguely in the pitted black road. The fall was days old. Bundled in his trench-coat and a useless tartan blanket, Lieutenant Edwin Winthrop was stung in the face by insect hailspits. He wondered if his frozen moustache would snap off. The open-top Daimler was unsuitable for this cruelly cold French winter night. Sergeant Dravot had a dead man's indifference to climate. The driver's night eyes were sharp.

At Maranique, there was a delay. Winthrop froze further while a corporal cast a sceptical eye over his papers.

'We were expecting Captain Spenser, sir,' explained the guard. He was twice Winthrop's age.

'Captain Spenser has been relieved,' Winthrop said. He did not have to explain himself.

The corporal had made the mistake of getting used to Spenser. In this business, a bad habit. 'There's a bit of a war on. Maybe you hadn't noticed. '

Blood-coloured fire-flashes stained low clouds over the near horizon. If a shell caught the wind a certain way, its whistle was distinguishable from the babel of bombardment. In the trenches, they said you only heard that particular shrilling if the shell was the one that would kill you.

The corporal plainly recognised Dravot. The staff car was finally passed through. The aerodrome was a converted farm. Deep cart-ruts marked the track to the house.

Condor Squadron had been Spenser's show until this afternoon. After an hour's cramming, Winthrop was not really au courant with the mysteries. He had been briefed on tonight's work but given only the barest sketch of the big picture.

'Do well, young man,' Beauregard said, 'and there's a pip in it. '

He did not see how a civilian, even one attached so firmly and mysteriously to Wing, could promise promotion, but Charles Beauregard inspired confidence. It was an open question, though, whether he had inspired confidence in the lamented Captain Eliot Spenser.

Winthrop had been in France long enough to know how to avoid the shivers by tensing every muscle. The memory of Spenser, smiling through blood trickles, undid the trick. Aching cheek muscles gave way and he chattered like a puppet.