The Crew

by Joseph Kessel

  The river’s blue course appeared through the bull’s eye underneath the cadet’s feet. Jean retracted his head inside the cockpit and entrusted his fate to Maury. Manoeuvring the gigantic camera which usually hampered his freedom of movement now took up the entirety of his efforts.

  The river Marne slithered along under his eyes. Jean pulled the camera’s trigger and replaced the plates in clockwork motions. The image of Denise inevitably forced its way into his mind. He would have liked her to see him now, clever and alert, surrounded by mortal dangers, carrying out a mission that could ensure their victory.

  Inside the forward cockpit, his fingers wrapped tightly around the rudder, keeping his ear focused on the engine’s aspirations, his eyes going back and forth between the control dials and the sky, Maury was thinking about the same woman.

  Both men—two souls inside a single body—linked their knowledge and clairvoyance to successfully accomplish the same task. They’d made one another suffer, even hated each other at times, while their senses and nerves, which were bound so tightly together, like the plane’s control dials, worked in unison. They were the intelligent cogs of the fragile, powerful machine they were flying in, and the same fluid ran through their veins.

  A mysterious warning shot distracted Jean from his work. The plane dived.

  The perfidious clouds lit up with sombre sparks. It was twelve German planes, but at first glance Jean noticed they were not in any immediate danger; Claude had anticipated the attack well in advance and the German planes hadn’t moved quickly enough to pursue them.

  Nevertheless, the joy prompted by that feeling of safety evaporated soon enough. Thélis and Doc had refused to abandon the plane they were escorting, and since they were still above the Marne, the German fighter planes quickly fell upon them, coming down on them like a powerful stream, while the two planes veered south. But it didn’t take long for the fastest single-seater aeroplanes to be on their tails.

  A feeling of dread took a hold of the young man as he confronted that swarm of wild wasps hell-bent on murder. He hesitated for just a second, although it seemed longer than the span of a painful life. He had avoided that danger, and joining the fight now would almost certainly mean death. Finally waking up to the reality of danger, he felt afraid, miserably so.

  Maury turned towards him and waited for him to make up his mind, respecting the strict code whereby the observer decided the crew’s fate. At which point Jean listened to Maury’s thoughts. At first he felt Claude was as indecisive as he was; then he felt him free himself from his cowardice, ready to do whatever he could to help his comrades.

  He raised his hand in the direction of where the dogfight was taking place and suddenly, reversing its course, the plane climbed towards the patch of sky crisscrossed by incandescent bullets.

  The young man’s fears evaporated. He stopped thinking. His blank mind transmitted mechanical orders to the rest of his body. He checked the magazines of his machine guns, and the flexibility of his turret. A winged shape leaped under his eyes, quickly followed by others. He started shooting, in little rapid, regular busts, just like they’d taught him at the academy. Claude’s machine gun echoed his efforts.

  It was only once he landed that he was able to reconstruct the scene: surprised by the attack, the German fighter planes swayed and hesitated long enough to allow Thélis to slip free, and then Maury happily manoeuvred away and escaped. At the time, all he’d seen had been a plane bearing black crosses on its wings plummet like a stone towards the Marne, at which he’d thought: “I shot it down.”

  The last he saw of it was when it was only a few feet from the ground, while the rest of the German patrol headed west.

  Claude’s eyes were still pinned on him, questioningly so. They still hadn’t completed their mission. They’d only taken half the photographs they’d been asked for. Herbillon listened to the engine’s cheerful buzz. There were no mechanical reasons to prevent them from carrying out the task they’d been forced to interrupt. Yet their escort planes were no longer there and the German patrol hadn’t quite disappeared over the horizon.

  However, Jean felt the same irrepressible desire well up within both of them. He removed the empty clips from his guns and replaced them with new ones. Maury didn’t require any further indication and he headed towards the river.

  They climbed back up to the altitude they’d reached before the attack and, starting from Château-Thierry, they hugged the Marne in the opposite direction. At the same time that Jean spied the ruined bridge, the result of his emptied clips, through his bull’s eye, the enemy patrol headed back towards them. Nevertheless, they were too far behind to catch up to them, and soon enough the tents of their camp came into view. However, Herbillon only felt safe once he finally saw the shadow of their plane form on the ground.

  Thélis, who’d been waiting for them, ran up to them and hugged them passionately. When he finally realized they’d completed their mission unescorted, he said: “I don’t know if I would have taken such a risk.”

  The two men felt this was a worthier prize than any they could have imagined.

  The captain continued to gaze at them emotionally and continued: “Maury, Herbillon,” he said. “There’s been a lot of bad blood between you for some time now, but if you don’t want to spoil my day, please hug one another.”

  This time, Claude was the one who turned away.

  After having cut its numbers down to half over the space of only a few days, fate spared the squadron any further losses. However, the remaining crewmen struggled on only by dint of an effort that pushed them beyond the normal limits of human endurance. Only Thélis was able to lead by example and keep his overworked men’s spirits high, after the latter’s minds were clouded by the sombre forebodings prompted by their comrades’ deaths.

  Thélis flew all the time, took part in every mission, only stopping long enough to change planes, taking up the new observers who’d come to replace the one who’d perished: boys who made up for their inexperience with their unparalleled skills and unwavering bravery. No prayer or warning could hold him back. Thélis was at a level of exhaustion that he only managed to overcome through sheer fanaticism. People said that he flew so he could get drunk on danger and fatigue, and thus forget the ongoing massacre, to keep death’s eyes focused on him alone.

  He eventually succeeded.

  One morning, piloted by an unsteady hand, a plane crashed its landing gear against a road embankment in the countryside around Meaux.

  The crash occurred during that ambivalent time of day when the last shadows of the summer night still break through the dawn’s light, allowing one to feel its smoothness. An enormous, pensive sort of peace closed back around the track where the plane had pierced through the stillness of the air.

  Marbot’s massive shadow emerged out of the rear cockpit. A red streak ran down his shoulder. He climbed down with difficulty and headed towards the forward cockpit. As the engine had broken off and had sagged to the ground, Marbot was able to stick his head up so it was level with the aperture, where the captain’s helmet was still visible.

  “Thélis,” he weakly groaned. “Thélis, old chap.”

  He wasn’t at all surprised that he couldn’t hear the voice of the man he was calling out to. Approaching collapse, Marbot leaned against the edge of the cockpit. Blurry, muddled snapshots that summed up the last three years they’d spent fighting and laughing together flashed past his eyes, juxtaposed against memories of physical pain.

  Their first flight, when Thélis had still been a pilot officer… when he’d had a sore neck… the night they’d drunk an entire cellar’s worth of champagne… when his head had spun and ached… the time the captain’s voice had sounded sharper than a bugle… when his legs had trembled… and by the time the image of Thélis laughing as he climbed into his plane went by, Marbot finally fainted…

  Time went by. The confused heap of scrap the plane had transformed into emerged out of the dawn light. Thélis felt the
horizontal rudder pushing against his chest. Slouched against his seat, he stood up and the sun’s first fiery rays overwhelmed him. With gestures he no longer had any control over, he removed his furs, which were stifling him, and then, using the little strength still left in him, he tumbled out of the cockpit onto the nearby earth.

  Once there, his feet stumbled onto a torso. Thélis fell on his knees and whispered: “Ah, it’s you, Marbot, come on, get up.”

  Silence hung over the plane again. Clinging to the plane’s fuselage, Thélis stood up straight and lingered motionless for a moment. His parched lips sucked some air in, making him wheeze.

  The captain slowly and dimly began to understand he was still alive; he remembered nothing of the fight except the sounds the dying engine had made and the shock of impact. He started to walk, without a specific aim in mind. He simply wanted to flee the remains of that shattered plane, as well as his comrade’s body, and the smell of the blood that had spilled all around him.

  The tranquility of the fields ahead tempted him towards them. He was unable to think about anything. He felt his heart murmur inside him like a sickly insect. The dawn air helped his muscles stretch, and each time he moved, he felt a deceptive lightness that made him stumble with every step he took. As he no longer exercised any control over his body, his arms surprised him as they tried to keep him balanced, albeit ineffectively. Sometimes, he even sat down, without knowing that he had.

  Something warm was spilling out of his left side, although he didn’t notice it.

  That walk through the deserted countryside seemed to go on forever, but the sun still hadn’t risen much when he stumbled over for the last time. He was thirsty, and he bit down on the dewy grass, then tried to get up, but couldn’t. So he lay on his back, his arms stretched in the shape of a cross, at which point the liquid gushing out of his sides began spilling out faster.

  The morning suddenly sprang to life. A suave lament hovered under the heavens, then shyly skimmed over the earth. Then it grew more intense. New calls added to it and reinforced it, propping it up, making it resonate in a deep, yet gentle manner. Without recognizing the sound as the song of bells coming from a nearby convent, calling the faithful to mass at dawn, Thélis welcomed their voice like a friend, like an ancient childhood lullaby.

  Nor did he recognize the female choir that accompanied the chiming of cast iron and bronze, but he felt its sweetness wash over him.

  He no longer lay in a field where a broken body had dragged him. Nor was it the sun that was kissing his face with its golden lips. The sky and the earth had fused together into a fluid expanse. He knew that his life had come to an end, and that the harmonized song of bells and human voices was greeting the liberation of his soul.

  The captain stepped into that tender death while he was still alive.

  *

  When his remains were brought back to the squadron, none of the captain’s comrades cried, but they all felt that the smile that had been too firmly drawn onto those lips, which had once been so cheerful, had carried away a very dear, pure and noble part of their youth with them.

  CHAPTER XI

  MARBOT REFUSED to go to the hospital before the funeral had taken place. Ravaged by a fever and with only a crude dressing covering his wounded shoulder, he kept watch over Thélis’s body, refusing to allow anyone to approach the lifeless corpse. Only Herbillon was granted the privilege of spending a few moments next to the captain and to hear Marbot’s lips tell the story of Thélis’s last fight against five German planes.

  When the cadet left the tent where the captain’s body lay in repose, he heard the loud, animated voices of Reuillard and Doc. Maury had just been appointed squadron commander, and this didn’t sit well with the old captain and the pilot-physician. The former believed the post should have gone to him considering he outranked Maury, whereas the latter thought it should have been bestowed on him due to his seniority. Seeing that anger allowed Jean to realize the squadron was already falling apart.

  Its soul lay sleeping over there, where Marbot kept watch over it.

  It received a new lease of life for a single morning, when the captain’s funeral took place. Every man in the squadron—down to the lowliest mechanic—stood around the pit where the coffin was being lowered. Jean saw the most carefree and hardened of faces burst into tears, while his own remained welled up in his eyes, burning them.

  When it was over, Herbillon headed out to the field with Maury, as they were scheduled to fly a mission. The same grief bowed their necks, since they had both, in their own unique way, loved Thélis. Claude murmured: “Let’s try to be friends again, Jean.”

  Herbillon directed his gaze at him, which seemed devoid of all meaning.

  “Let’s not dwell on anything any more,” he said. “Who knows how long we’ve got left?”

  As though to silence everything within them that had rebelled against their friendship, Claude spoke of Thélis, and the tenderness they felt for him proved so great that they forgot their own troubles so they could focus their thoughts on their beloved captain. Yet to show how much suffering that death had caused him,

  Claude felt compelled to say: “I received an incredibly anguished letter from Hélène; I didn’t know I’d inspired such a love for Thélis in her.”

  Since Herbillon thought that keeping his mouth shut about it would betray the very memory of Thélis, he replied: “I was the one, who since my arrival here…”

  He didn’t dare finish his sentence. Claude felt as though the last dark curtain had finally lifted.

  They didn’t exchange a single word before climbing into their plane.

  The cadet’s fingers were riddled with icy needles as he tried to keep them moving in order to stave off the torturous cold. He knew he would have to endure this for some time as they were on their way back from a mission that had taken them very far past the German lines and, in order to reduce the risks, they’d flown at an altitude of 6,000 metres.

  He’d been able to see some familiar sights again; the Aisne, Hill 108, and the plateau of Rosny, which was now occupied by the enemy. Yet his physical pain quickly replaced the melancholy that had moved in when confronted with the sight of the places where he’d been born into the life of the squadron, where Berthier, Deschamps and Thélis had come into his life, where he’d forged such a noble link with Maury, and finally where many of his illusions now lay buried.

  A kind of yoke settled on his shoulders, seemingly stiffening his joints for good. The slightest movement required a disproportionate effort on his part. He felt as though his temples were caving under a weight that was becoming increasingly oppressive, and that was the source of the pain that kept hammering away at his head.

  Maury’s helmet and fur collar in front of him didn’t seem to be moving at all. Sparing when it came to his own movements, feeling just as oppressed as Jean by the atmosphere, where the heart pumped away with difficulty, Maury’s eyes were purely focused on ensuring the plane didn’t lose any altitude.

  At such heights, where the lines of the ground below barely appeared to move, it seemed that although its engine was working at fully capacity, the aircraft was hovering motionlessly in the air. The eyes always beheld the same, vast horizon, and the same immovable flat, green canvas, stitched with grey threads—roads—or blue ones—rivers.

  From time to time, Herbillon would employ every iota of strength still left in him to stand up and observe the expanse of space before him. Habit governed his actions more than willpower. The torpor that permeated the whole of his being made him indifferent to the idea of danger. Claude felt a similar numbness.

  Although their limbs were constricted by a morbid lethargy, their mental faculties were still intact. You might even say that the way their bodies abdicated their responsibilities endowed their thoughts with a crystal-clear lucidity, as well as freeing them from any negativity. Their minds could thus coolly and abstractedly analyse feelings that had usually caused them the greatest of suffering, right do
wn to the very core of their beings.

  Maury thus scientifically worked out the equation of his suffering.

  Frame by frame, he visualized the first evening when Herbillon had come to him, how their friendship had ripened, how they had formed their crew, and finally how they’d forged that marvellous, mysterious bond that had linked their reflexes and intuitions.

  Then there had been Herbillon’s departure for Paris… his return… and the hell that followed. The hell where Maury had daily been forced to see his suspicions grow more accurate, deepen and be confirmed.

  How could he have possibly convinced himself, purely to smother his suspicions, that the way Herbillon had behaved had been merely the product of a shy, nascent love? Truth be told, Claude had been very undemanding when it came to his need for happiness! The disappointment hadn’t taken much time to unfold.

  Now the conclusion had become all too obvious, and it was just as clear, icy and burdensome as that unbreathable air.

  As though suddenly aware that Maury had crossed a forbidden line, Herbillon felt the irrepressible need to act. He stood up. He stretched his rebellious limbs. His gaze plunged to the ground below and, on seeing the river Vesle, he realized they would soon cross over into friendly skies. It was at this exact moment that the Drachen which had spotted their trajectory hurtled towards them at a sharp angle.

  Jean wanted to shoot it down. With a sudden thrust, he altered the plane’s delicate balance. Looking at Maury’s eyes, which had reluctantly turned towards him, Jean had read the cool-headed assessment of their distressing situation, but he pointed to the captive balloon. Claude replied by way of an automatic, approving gesture.

  The cadet already pictured the voluntary nosedive, when the engine’s roar would suddenly break off, forcing the propeller to whirl like a vortex and hiss, the pleasant, dizzying anxiety that gripped the heart, the blazing bursts of gunfire against the Drachen’s white target, and the parachute’s slow, frail descent.