The Forest of Swords by Joseph A. Altsheler


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Page 30

The great puffing sound of primeval monsters which had blended into one
rather harmonious note ceased, as if by signal, and the innumerable
motors stopped. As far as John could see the army stretched to left and
right over roads, hills and fields, but in the fields behind them the
silent peasants went on with their work--in fields which the Republic
had made their own.

"I think we take breakfast here," said Rougemont. "War is what one of
your famous American generals said it was, but for the present, at
least, we are marching _de luxe_. Here comes one of those glorious
camp-kitchens."

An enormous motor vehicle, equipped with all the paraphernalia of a
kitchen, stopped near them, and men, trim and neatly dressed, served hot
food and steaming coffee. General Vaugirard had alighted also, and John
noticed that his step was much more springy and alert than that of some
officers half his age. His breath came in great gusts, and the small
portion of his face not covered by thick beard was ruddy and glowing
with health. He drank several cups of coffee with startling rapidity,
draining each at a breath, and between times he whistled softly a
pleasing little refrain.

The march must be going well. Undoubtedly General Vaugirard had received
satisfactory messages in the night, while his young American aide, and
other Frenchmen as young, slept.

"Well, my children," he said, rubbing his hands after his last cup of
coffee had gone to its fate, "the day dawns and behold the sun of France
is rising. It's not the sun of Austerlitz, but a modest republican sun
that can grow and grow. Behold we are at the appointed place, set forth
in the message that came to us from the commander-in-chief through
Paris, and then by way of the air! And, look, my children, the bird
from the blue descends once more among us!"

There were flying machines of many kinds in the air, but John promptly
picked out one which seemed to be coming with the flight of an eagle out
of its uppermost heights. He seemed to know its slim, lithe shape, and
the rapidity and decision of its approach. His heart thrilled, as it had
thrilled when he saw the _Arrow_ coming for the first time on that spur
of the Alps near Salzburg.

"It's for me," said General Vaugirard, as he looked upward. "This flying
demon, this man without fear, was told to report directly to me, and he
conies at the appointed hour."

Something of the mystery that belongs to the gulf of the infinite was
reflected in the general's eyes. He, too, felt that man's flight in the
heavens yet had in it a touch of the supernatural. Lannes' plane had
seemed to shoot from white clouds, out of unknown spaces, and the
general ceased to whistle or breathe gustily. His chest rose and fell
more violently than usual, but the breath came softly.

The plane descended rapidly and settled down on the grass very near
them. Lannes saluted and presented a note to General Vaugirard, who
started and then expelled the breath from his lungs in two or three
prodigious puffs.

"Good, my son, good!" he exclaimed, patting Lannes repeatedly on the
shoulder; "and now a cup of coffee for you at once! Hurry with it, some
of you idle children! Can't you see that he needs it!"

John was first with the coffee, which Lannes drank eagerly, although it
was steaming hot. John saw that he needed it very much indeed, as he was
white and shaky. He noticed, too, that there were spots of blood on
Lannes' left sleeve.

"What is it, Philip?" he whispered. "You've been attacked again?"

"Aye, truly. My movements seem to be observed by some mysterious eye. A
shot was fired at me, and again it came from a French plane. That was
all I could see. We were in a bank of mist at the time, and I just
caught a glimpse of the plane itself. The man was a mere shapeless
figure to me. I had no time to fight him, because I was due here with
another message which made vengeance upon him at that time a matter of
little moment."

He flecked the red drops off his sleeve, and added:

"It was but a scratch. My weary look comes from a long and hard flight
and not from the mysterious bullet. I'm to rest here an hour, which will
be sufficient to restore me, and then I'm off again."

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Sun 21st Dec 2025, 21:47