Benny Fears had never had much in his room. His life had been hard. He’d grown up in a brutal orphanage. When he came of age, he had been thrust out into the world. He had drifted from job to job until finally he had ended up in the trenches of France, which had brought him to the point of despair.
“I don’t know what to do,” he moaned. “Tell me what to do, Rev.”
“It’s easy. Jesus loves you. Do you believe that?”
“That’s what the Bible says, ain’t it?”
“Right, and it’s true. I never had nobody really love me,” Revelation said, “in my whole life until Jesus loved me. That’s why I came to Him. I needed somebody to love me.”
“Guess I do, too.”
“Well, you can believe it. How do you know it? Because He died for you on the cross.”
“But how does that help me?”
“You know that pack you carry every day?”
“Sure. Just about cuts my shoulder off.”
“Suppose you’re trudging along and that pack’s pulling you over backward, cuttin’ creases in your shoulders and rubbing blisters, and then all of a sudden somebody just reaches out and takes that pack off. Say like me, and I toted it for you.”
“You’ve done that more than once, Rev.”
“Well, it’s the same thing with your sins. You’re bowed down with sin, knowing you’re bound straight for hell and you’re miserable. But Jesus reaches down and takes that load off and He puts it on His own back. He died for those sins. That’s the way it is. The just for the unjust.”
For a long time the two men talked quietly, and finally Benny Fears threw up his hands. “I’ve got to do something. I’m going crazy. Tell me what to do.”
“You just pray this prayer. ‘Lord Jesus, I know I’m a sinner. I don’t know much about anything else, but I know you died for me. You love me, and you want me to be saved. I turn right now from my sin, and I give you my heart and ask you to save me, oh, God. In the name of Jesus.’ ”
The thin young man echoed the prayer of Revelation Brown. When it was over, he looked up with tears glimmering in his eyes. “Is that all there is to it?” he whispered.
“No, that’s not all there is to it. Did you pray the prayer?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“All right. Now you belong to Jesus. From this moment on, whatever He says, do it no matter how hard.”
“What do you mean what He says? Is He going to talk to me?”
“He already has, in the Bible. Now, the first thing He says to do is to confess Him before men. So I know it will be hard, Benny, but the next time you get a chance, just tell somebody you’re trusting in Jesus.”
Benny Fears swallowed hard. “They’ll make fun of me.”
“They won’t crucify you, though. That’s what they did to your Lord. Come on. I’m right there with you. Jesus is with both of us.”
****
Benny Fears turned out to be more courageous than he thought. It was difficult for him to make his first public profession, but once he did and had endured the jeers and scoffs of his fellow Legionnaires, he found it easier each time to share his faith. Soon they were calling him “Holy Ben,” for he read the Bible that Rev shared with him almost constantly and could seemingly talk of nothing else but of what Jesus had done in his life.
“It’s great, Rev!” he beamed. “For the first time in my life, I haven’t been afraid. Here I could be killed any minute, but I’m not afraid. Ain’t it great?”
“That’s right, Ben. It’s great to be saved.”
****
When May came the first offensive of the Allies began to take shape. The French army made a tremendous effort to break the stalemate.
Logan and Rev were at the point of the spear that attempted to pierce the German line. The attack across the red clay was under the command of Marshal Ferdinand Foch. He shoved eighteen divisions into position on May 5. All of the men began digging trenches leading to the German lines that were only a few hundred yards away. Four days later Logan and Rev were crouched in a trench waiting for the command to go over the top. Rev looked around and winked at Benny Fears, who was on his right side. “It looks like we’re going for it this time, Benny. Is Jesus walking with you?”
“Praise the Lord. He is,” Benny grinned. His face was pale, but he said firmly, “If I don’t make it out of here, Rev, I’ll see you when you get to heaven.”
At that moment whistles began to blow, and the officers and sergeants began screaming orders. The blast from the whistles pierced through the sounds of the guns, and Logan heard the officers shouting, “En avant!”
Scrambling up out of the deep trench, Logan joined the long line of Legionnaires that moved forward. The earth seemed to be shaking, and the deafening crashes from exploding shells numbed his eardrums. From everywhere came the rattle of small arms being fired, and then he closed his mind from everything except the blue haze of smoke ahead of him. He threw himself into it, trying to keep up with Rev on his right side. He had not gone more than twenty yards when he tripped over a body. Looking down he saw that it was a dead Legionnaire, his face gleaming whitely. He had been killed the day before. His name was Johnson, but no one had been able to get to him and bury him.
Grabbing the Legionnaire’s rifle, he began to fire into the mist in front of him. Only shadows could be seen, but he fired until the bolt clicked uselessly.
Moving forward, he pulled another clip from the dead man’s belt and then staggered to his feet.
He moved like a man in a dream. From time to time he heard the whistling of bullets as they sang through the air around his head. Something plucked at his right sleeve as he staggered forward. Once he called out, “Rev, are you okay?” and he heard a vague answer.
Suddenly a voice cried out, “Du Englischer Schwein!” and immediately in front of him a dark, bulky shape rose up. He caught the glimpse of cold steel and managed only to get his rifle up and parry the bayonet thrust. He was thrown backward, and before he could move again, something struck him in the side. It did not seem to be a heavy blow, and he thought, Just a nick. But within seconds waves of pain came over him as he fell over backward. He tried to raise his rifle, for the German was coming again, this time with his bayonet poised.
This is death! he thought. But then the German stopped dead still. Logan wondered why the tall German was prolonging the kill, then he saw the soldier begin to lean forward. He fell like a large tree, not attempting to catch himself, and when he hit the frozen mud, he did not move.
The fighting went on and Logan drifted into unconsciousness. He came out of it from time to time and could hear wounded men screaming all around him. Finally he heard someone ordering the men to fall back and retreat. He knew he would lie here in no-man’s-land and would never see home again.
****
“You’re gonna be okay, Logan.”
Coming out of the anesthetic, Logan could not think clearly. He saw a face in front of him, but it was in long, wavy lines as if he were underwater. He blinked his eyes and took a deep breath, and the pain ran through his side. Opening his eyes again, he made out the features of Revelation.
“Are you okay, partner?” Revelation said.
“How . . . did I get here?”
“Well, I reckon I carried you. They got you all patched up now. You’re gonna be all right.”
“How’re the rest of our boys?”
“Not good. We lost more than two hundred.”
“What about Benny Fears?”
“He’s in heaven right now. Thank God he found the Lord before he went over the top.”
Logan lay still, trying to focus on the face of his friend. “Where am I?”
“Field hospital. We’re waitin’ on an ambulance. I’m gonna get ’em to give you another shot of that dope. When you wake up, brother, you’ll be in a hospital in Paris.”
“Will you be there?”
“No, but I’ll come back as soon as I can get the general to give me a pass.
”
That was the last thing Logan remembered. Revelation’s face began to fade, and he tried to speak. Though his lips moved, nothing came out. He heard Revelation whispering in his ear and made out the words, “ ‘I’m with you always even to the end of the earth.’ ”
And then Logan Smith drifted gently off into a deep sleep, and the blackness surrounded him like a blanket.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“All Americans Are Rude!”
Logan looked up at the ceiling and counted the flies. They seemed to form some sort of pattern, but he had no idea what it was. There were six of them now, whereas an hour before there had been only five.
“Are you guys having a convention up there?” he muttered. “Why don’t you go out and call the rest of the flies in? That way you can have a really big meeting.”
The ward in which Logan lay contained ten beds, and all of them were occupied. Since he had regained consciousness, he had rapidly improved enough so that he now was acquainted with all of the men there. He was the only Legionnaire. The rest of the patients were the wounded who had come back from the Western Front in a steady stream. Only two of them spoke understandable English, and the rest he could communicate with only in some sort of laborious sign language. As it happened, both of them were now out of the room, and Logan had no desire to play the linguistic guessing game that communication had become. His French had improved only slightly, but still it was a difficult process.
Overhead the flies shifted their positions slightly, and Logan studied the new pattern. Now, he thought, you look like the Big Dipper. He lay flat on his back, and when he had to shift his position, he did so very slowly. The wound he had taken was extremely painful, but he had confidence that it was merely a matter of time before he would be completely healed. Cautiously he twisted his body and was rewarded by a sharp spasm of pain that ran along his side. Disgruntled, he put his hands down by his sides and considered turning over. He hated to sleep on his back, but lying on either side brought sharp pains, so he had learned to lie there day and night.
One of his fellow patients, a short man named Benoit from down the ward, got up and hobbled toward him. He was on crutches because his right leg had been amputated just above the knee. He was a short, dumpy man with an unhealthy pallor and a pair of small eyes. “Hello. How are you?”
The words were pronounced very slowly and with great care and constituted almost the entirety of Benoit’s English vocabulary.
“I—am—fine,” Logan said slowly, pronouncing every syllable carefully. “It—is—a—fine—day.”
“Oui. The day is bon.”
For some time Benoit stood there, balancing on his crutches, but finally both men gave up trying to hold a conversation. Benoit said something that Logan did not get, then turned and hobbled out of the room.
The silence of the ward flowed over Logan then, and for a while he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. But a man could sleep only so much, and since he had come into the hospital, he had had plenty of rest. He tried to think of the date and could not remember if it was the second or the third. What does it matter, he thought, what day it is? Every day is just alike. He lay there trying to let his mind go blank, but instead he kept thinking impatiently of how long it would be before he would get out of the hospital. He had never been seriously ill. One time he had taken a bad fall from a horse and had lain in the hospital in Helena with a broken ankle for awhile. Thinking back on it, he remembered he had been just as impatient then as he was now. Just not made to be a patient, I reckon, he thought.
He suddenly thought of the letter he had received from Rev and reached over thoughtlessly, rolling onto his side. Pain struck him like a blow, and he caught his breath and lay there until it slowly ebbed away. Carefully he extended his arm and picked up the envelope. Opening it, he began to read the letter that had come three days earlier. It was mostly filled with Scripture, and Logan took in every word. It closed with the words, The Lord be with you, dear brother. He has kept me safe thus far. He will bring both of us safely home. Put your faith and trust in Jesus as I do. Your friend, Rev.
He read it again, and then folding it, he put it back in the envelope. He did not feel up to leaning over and putting the envelope on the table, so he simply let it drop on his bed. He closed his eyes and soon dozed off again. He came out of a light sleep when he heard the sound of footsteps. Looking up, he saw two doctors and an orderly moving down the aisles. He watched them as they stopped at each bed, conferring with each other as they examined each patient’s wounds. Finally when they got to him, he managed to grin. “Hi, Doc.”
“Morning, Smith.” Fortunately the doctor spoke excellent English. “How is it today?”
“Same as it was yesterday. When do I get out of this bed?”
“When I say that you are ready.” The doctor made a motion, and the orderly came and hauled Logan into an upright position. He grunted involuntarily, and the doctor said sharply, “Be careful there! That’s not a bag of oats you’re handling!”
“Sorry, Doctor.”
The orderly was awkward and hurt Logan considerably as he removed the bandage. Logan winced as the man unwound the strips that went across his stomach and side and all the way around his torso. Logan managed to get a glimpse at the wound and saw that it still looked bad. “No better, is it?”
“Perhaps a little. You’re fortunate to be here. If that wound had been a little to the right, you would still be out there in an unmarked grave.” The doctor leaned forward and probed at the wound and shook his head. “You must lie still and drink lots of fluids. You’ll be all right, but you must take care of yourself. By the way,” he said, “you’re going to be transferred.”
With a grunt, as the orderly reached around him and pulled another bandage tight to hold the compress on, Logan glanced at the physician. “Transferred? Why, and where?”
“As to the why, we need the room here for more serious cases. You’ll get better, Smith. It’ll just take time. As to the where, I’m having you transferred to a small hospital about ten miles outside of Paris. It won’t be much of a trip. The name of the place is Belleville. A pleasant little village. You’ll like it there.”
“When will I be going?”
“Probably tomorrow. Now, be a good patient. Soon you’ll be back fighting again.”
Somehow, Logan did not receive these words of assurance with great pleasure. “Thanks, Doc,” he said. He lay there as the doctors moved on and was hardly conscious of them as they visited the other patients. Finally, when they left the ward, he thought, Well, it can’t be any more boring than it is here. Looking up at the flies, he saw that there were now eight of them. “That’s right. Get your whole gang in here. What this hospital needs are more flies.”
****
“Well, a visitor. I can’t believe it.”
Logan was sitting up in bed attempting to read a novel in French. He read better than he spoke or understood, but still it was one of the most boring books he had ever read. He had picked it up in desperation, but now as Jo Hellinger stood over him, a smile spread across his face.
“How are you, Logan?”
“Fine—fine! Hey, it’s great to see you, Jo. You look great.” She was wearing a peach-colored, loose-fitting tailored day dress, with a bodice jacket that fell to hip level. The sleeves were long and close-fitting, with deep cuffs trimmed with buttons and braid. She looked like life itself to Logan Smith.
Pulling up a hard, unpadded chair, Jo sat down and studied Logan’s face. “You’ve lost weight,” she said. “I can tell it here.” She pinched her own cheeks with her two fingers. “You’ve had a hard time, haven’t you?”
“Not as hard as some. Where’s Bedford?”
“He’s outside. They wouldn’t let me bring him in. I’ve got him tied to a lamppost. I hope he doesn’t pull it down.”
“Tell me what you’ve been doing. Any more stories accepted back in the States?”
“Yes. My editor shipped me these. I brough
t them to you. I don’t know whether you’ll like them or not.” Reaching down, she extracted a sheaf of newspapers and handed it to him. “Thought you might like to read some American papers.”
“Would I!” Logan grasped at them eagerly. “I’ve missed out on everything! I don’t even know who won the World Series.”
“Boston beat Philadelphia. A clean sweep. Four straight games.”
“Well, I missed that one,” he said with a quick smile. “It’s good to see you, Jo,” he said. “I know you’ve been busy.”
“Pretty busy. Have you heard from Rev?”
“Yes. Got a letter from him yesterday. Here, you can read it.” He sat there watching her face as she read Revelation’s short letter. He enjoyed the sight of her. Her red hair brought a dash of color into the bland setting of the ward, and the other patients, he noticed, those who were awake, at least, had their eyes fixed on her.
Looking up, she smiled. “He never gives up, does he? I never saw as much of the Bible packed into one letter.”
“That’s about all he thinks about, I guess. Not a bad way to be. If it hadn’t been for him, I guess I’d be dead.”
“I pray for him every day,” Jo said.
“So do I. It worries me to think that he might not make it.”
She sat there speaking quietly, and after a time he said, “I’ve got a little news.”
“What’s that? You won the Croix de Guerre?”
“Not quite,” he said dryly. “I’m being transferred out of here.”
“Transferred! Where to?”
“A little place about ten miles outside Paris. I don’t know where. The name of it is Belleville.”
“Oh, I know that! There’s an aerodrome there. Isn’t far at all. A nice little town. You’ll like it.”
“I didn’t think I’d come over all the way to France to spend my time in a hospital. Oh, I’m not complaining,” he said, seeing quick compassion sweep across Jo’s face. “I’m lucky to even be alive. A lot of the fellows didn’t make it, but I’m not a very good patient.”
The Flying Cavalier Page 18
