Chapter Two

Chateau St Alain, near Valenciennes, northern France, March 1918.

AT THE CHATEAU, the headquarters of the 15th German Army Corps commanded by General Paul von Feldermann, a moment of confessional humiliation was taking place for Captain Erich Vorster.

The general, having received the confession, placed his hands on his desk, leaned back and said, ‘You have managed to deliver to me the unbelievable.’

‘I’m sorry, Herr General.’ Captain Vorster stared fixedly at the portrait of the Kaiser that hung on the wall above the general’s head.

‘Sorry?’ General von Feldermann, noted for his self-control, a quality as inherent in a Junker as stoicism in a Spartan, was unusually close to raising his voice. ‘You’ve lost my daughter and you’re sorry?’

‘I did not expect Fräulein Sophia to be quite so agile.’

The general eyed the unimaginative captain a little pityingly.

‘As I remember it,’ he said, ‘my orders contained the injunction to watch her with the utmost care.’

‘That is so, Sir, but there was a moment – a few moments – when of necessity she was out of sight.’

‘Necessity?’ The general’s blue eyes were bleak. ‘State precisely what happened.’

‘To ensure I had enough petrol for the journey, Herr General, I stopped at the 23rd Company Supply Headquarters to have the tank filled and to take extra cans aboard. At this juncture, Fräulein Sophia stated she wished to change her dress for a warmer one.’

‘You were taken in by that?’

‘She had begun to shiver, Sir.’

‘With a leather coat on, she had begun to shiver?’

‘Visibly, Sir,’ said the unhappy captain. ‘She—’ He stopped, for the general’s icy stare was numbing.

‘Go on.’

‘She assured me that on no account was I to think she would not return.’

‘You did not suspect that her request and her assurance were in the nature of a deception?’

‘I did suspect that, yes,’ said Captain Vorster, ‘particularly in view of your warning. Therefore, I accompanied her to the officers’ quarters, where a suitable room was put at her disposal, and where I waited outside the door. I respectfully submit, Herr General, that I could do no more than that.’

‘What you are saying,’ the general said caustically, ‘is that despite my telling you not to take your eyes off her, almost the first thing you did was to allow her to place a door between the two of you.’

‘But the situation, Sir. Her need of privacy—’

‘The situation was one you should not have permitted. I imagine I know the rest. Using what you call her unexpected agility, she climbed out of a window and disappeared.’

Captain Vorster cleared his throat.

‘With the car, Sir,’ he said.

General von Feldermann sighed.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘She made her promised return to it and drove off while you were still waiting outside the door in the officers’ quarters. Is that it?’

‘Unfortunately, yes, Sir.’

‘Very unfortunately,’ said the general, although for a moment a little gleam of paternal pride brightened his eyes. His spirited daughter’s penchant for the audacious and unconventional commended itself to him, if not to his wife. His wife would be furious. She had mapped out Sophia’s life from birth, and nowhere along the chosen path was Sophia scheduled to run off and marry a young flying officer who was a middle-class anonymity. The general had met the young man and thought him likeable, but quite without the character or background that would make him an acceptable suitor for Sophia. Sophia’s infatuation was undoubtedly born of a perverse defiance of her ordained role. She had been only too ready to fall for a handsome face and dashing uniform. To her, Captain Fritz Gerder, as a flying officer with Richtofen’s squadron, was irresistibly dashing, and quite different from the men her mother recommended. She was making a mistake, of course. Marriage to Captain Gerder would be a disaster. Within six months, if he survived the war in the air, she would discover his appeal to be that of an irresponsible youth. At twenty-three, he was too young for her, for she herself would soon be twenty-one. Wayward, she needed a man of strong character, not a callow boy, however well he handled a fighter plane.

Baron von Richtofen’s squadron was stationed near Douai, and Sophia would almost certainly head for there. She had made it quite plain that if Fritz proposed she would accept him, and in two weeks or so she would be twenty-one. It was imperative to return her to her mother.

‘Herr General,’ ventured Captain Vorster, ‘may I suggest I notify various units to keep an eye open for the car?’

‘Out of the question. Every unit in this area is committed to General Ludendorff’s new offensive, due to be launched very soon. You know that. Captain Vorster, having lost my daughter, yours is the responsibility for finding her. Take a car and go after her.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ said the young officer. ‘But where?’ he asked.

General von Feldermann sighed again. After almost four years of crippling conflict, Germany was not only short of manpower, it was short of the right kind of field officers and staff officers. Men of flair and imagination were harder to come by. Captain Vorster was keen and competently methodical, but had few inspired moments.

‘I imagine that there will be people who’ve seen the car and its driver. Answers to commonsense questions should help you find the route she’s taking. I think you’ll find most of the answers will point you towards Douai.’

‘Douai? That’s only about twenty-five kilometres from our front lines, sir.’

‘So?’ The caustic note was there again. ‘My daughter won’t be intimidated by that. Find her, Captain Vorster, and carry out my original request to escort her home to her mother. One more thing. On no account are you to divulge to anyone, anyone at all, the identity of the young lady you’re looking for. I don’t want the larger part of the 15th Army Corps to know that its commander has lost his daughter.’ The general’s little dig did not escape the uncomfortable captain. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Perfectly, Herr General. But my work—’

‘Ah, your work, yes. It’s important, of course, but not as important as mine. General Ludendorff expects something more of me than running around in search of Sophia myself. Therefore, I must ask you to do so. Start at once. The morning is still young. Keep me informed, but not directly. Through Major Kirsten.’

‘Very good, Sir.’

Captain Vorster departed in haste, though without relishing his assignment. General von Feldermann sat in thought for a few moments. With Ludendorff’s well-planned offensive due to begin in a few days, he had worries enough and could have done without the personal problems posed by Sophia’s waywardness. He must telephone his wife and give her the news of Sophia’s disappearance. On the other hand, if Captain Vorster succeeded in finding her fairly quickly, nothing need be said, except to Major Josef Kirsten, a trusted confidante.

He summoned the major, an executive officer and aide of distinction. Major Kirsten, as a casualty of the Somme, had lost his left arm and his empty sleeve was tucked neatly in his jacket pocket. A further wound caused by a small but red-hot piece of shrapnel had left a scar puckering the skin of his temple, close to his right eye. It slightly distorted the eyelid, giving the impression of a squint. He was iron-grey though not yet forty. He listened to the general outlining a purely domestic problem.

‘One has to admire Sophia’s initiative,’ he said. ‘Are you expecting results from Captain Vorster?’

‘I’m hoping,’ said the general.

Major Kirsten, who knew Sophia quite well, said, ‘Are you sure she’ll go to Douai?’

‘I’m sure she’ll head straight for the arms of Captain Gerder, and Douai is their most convenient meeting place.’

‘Allow me, Herr General, to contact Colonel Hoffner, the commandant at Douai,’ said Major Kirsten. ‘He’s an old colleague of mine. I’ll describe Sophia to him and ask for some of his men to keep an eye open for her. I shan’t tell him she’s your daughter, merely that for certain reasons I’d like to be advised if she’s spotted. Allow me to also contact the young flying officer, Captain Gerder.’

‘Is that wise?’ The general frowned.

‘I think,’ said Major Kirsten, ‘that if Sophia does land in his arms, I must persuade him to persuade her to return to her mother.’

‘If you can do that, I’d be grateful,’ said von Feldermann, who had a mountain of work to get through. ‘Go about it in your own way, Josef.’

Returning to his office, Major Kirsten got through to Colonel Hoffner in Douai. The colonel, advised that the major was interested in the whereabouts of a certain young lady, took down details of her appearance. The major said she was not to be apprehended, only located. The colonel promised to do what he could and to call the major back the moment he had any information to impart.

Major Kirsten then telephoned Richtofen’s squadron headquarters and asked to speak to Captain Fritz Gerder. He was told that the captain was in Douai; his plane had been shot up two days ago and he had crash-landed. He had suffered no real injury, apart from some bruises, but was badly shaken up. He had spent a day in hospital and was now on a week’s rest in a Douai hotel. He would be recalled at the end of the week, when a new machine would be available.

Major Kirsten telephoned the hotel. The hotel paged Captain Gerder while the major held on. After some minutes, Captain Gerder came on the line. The major proceeded to talk.

Captain Gerder listened for a while, then broke in to say, ‘I’m unaware of the relevance of all this.’

‘I’m aware you’re unaware,’ said Major Kirsten, ‘but perhaps you’ll permit me to finish. It’s suspected that Fräulein von Feldermann is heading for Douai. Herr Captain, in the event of her making contact with you, may I have your word as a German officer that you’ll persuade her to return home?’

‘As a German officer, I’m required to obey orders and to fly my plane against Germany’s enemies,’ said Captain Gerder. ‘I am not required, Herr Major, to influence the wishes or actions of private citizens.’

Impudent young devil, thought Major Kirsten.

‘Nevertheless, Herr Captain, your cooperation is requested,’ he said, ‘and General von Feldermann would be extremely grateful for it.’

‘My first consideration will be to respect Sophia’s wishes,’ said Captain Gerder.

‘Very laudable,’ said Major Kirsten, ‘but I hope your consideration would also embrace her parents’ natural anxieties. That isn’t an unreasonable comment?’

‘No, not at all,’ said Captain Gerder, but sounded indifferent.

‘Would you at least be good enough to inform me if Fräulein Sophia does arrive?’ asked Major Kirsten.

‘You mean that if I put Sophia’s wishes above her parents’ anxieties, you would at least like me to tell you exactly where she is?’

‘Precisely, Herr Captain – if that is also not too unreasonable. Thank you.’ Major Kirsten hung up, deliberately giving Captain Gerder no time to argue a refusal. There, he thought, was a young man as unconventional as Sophia herself. What was it he had said? My first consideration will be to respect Sophia’s wishes. Will be? Not would be? One could infer from that, perhaps, that Sophia knew he was in Douai and had been in touch with him. One could also infer that he knew Sophia intended to go to him.

The major called Colonel Hoffner again and asked him if an eye could be kept on the movements of Captain Fritz Gerder, a pilot in von Richtofen’s squadron presently staying at the Hotel Avignon in Douai. It was possible that the young lady in question might meet him there or somewhere else in the town.

‘My friend,’ said Colonel Hoffner, ‘I presume you know the war is still on?’

‘Even in a war like this,’ said Major Kirsten, ‘there are times when small favours have to be asked of old colleagues.’

‘Are we dealing with spies and traitors, perhaps?’ said Colonel Hoffner.

‘I’m not permitted to answer that,’ said Major Kirsten.

‘Ah, so.’ said the colonel. ‘Well, I’ll do what I can, Josef.’

‘Thank you. I’m not asking for the young lady to be detained, only to be advised of her whereabouts.’

‘You’ve already made that point.’

‘I’m getting old,’ said Major Kirsten, and put the phone down.

The winding country roads of agricultural Nord were indifferently surfaced, but Sophia von Feldermann handled the powerful Bugatti belonging to her family with the confidence of a young woman who had benefited from the expert tuition of the family chauffeur.

She had gone to her father to seek his understanding and help, although neither she nor her mother were encouraged to appear at the Corps Headquarters unless invited. She went because she knew he was not quite the autocrat he sometimes seemed, but her mother forestalled her. By the time she had reached the chateau late the previous evening, a parental phone conversation had taken place, and as soon as she mentioned her wish to marry Captain Fritz Gerder she was up against a prearranged opposition she could not break down. Further, to thwart any intention she had of eloping with Fritz, whom she knew to be in Douai, her father commanded Captain Vorster to drive her back to her mother first thing in the morning, her mother at present being in Baden-Baden. From there, Sophia knew, she would be taken home to Lissa in South Prussia and kept there until the war ended and certain young flying officers could go back to being clerks. Her mother believed that although many girls might look romantically at any airman, no discriminating girl would look even casually at a clerk. But Fritz was not a clerk. He was the son of a Bavarian professor, and he was also a university graduate. In addition, he was an excellent fighter pilot. He had to be, or he would not be flying with Richtofen’s squadron.

The war would soon end. With the Russians beaten and in the throes of revolution, General Ludendorff was planning a gigantic offensive that would tear the French and British apart. Captain Vorster had confidently said so.

Sophia motored at a steady speed. She knew her father would send someone after her, and would probably pick on Captain Vorster, giving the poor man a chance to remedy his mistake. Her father commanded thousands of men, but it was her elegant and aristocratic mother who commanded the family. Both sons were with von Mackenson’s army and on his staff. That was due as much to her mother’s influence as her father’s. Her mother was of very ancient and noble Prussian lineage, and considered it her duty to secure the proudest of futures for her children. Sophia had wanted to enlist in the Women’s Army Corps when it was formed, but her mother would not hear of it and insisted she continued with her voluntary work for the German Red Cross. In the meantime, it was to be hoped that Sophia would favourably consider attaching herself to Count Frederick von Menckenburg. To Sophia, however, this scion of Prussian nobility was so austere and correct that she felt he would expect his wife to give formal notice whenever she desired to speak to him. She had no wish whatever to marry any man as humourless as that.

Fritz was very different. Correctness and convention, he said, were designed by the sour to suffocate the sweet.

He had just had a narrow escape from death in one more aerial combat with British fighter planes. His engine was on fire when he landed, his damaged machine pancaked and he was pulled out with his body a mass of bruises. He had refused to be hospitalized. Instead, he was resting in an hotel in Douai and had telephoned her from there. She desperately wanted to join him.

They had met in Berlin during a reception for newly decorated flying officers. Introduced, they at once found it easy to talk to each other. Fritz, young, handsome and amusing, captivated her with his cheerful disregard of formality. He had a reckless air that excited her. He was very different indeed from the stiff, monocled Junkers of Prussia.

Before the reception was over, Fritz found an opportunity to kiss her. It was an act of bold outrageousness, and she found herself breathless when he planted the kiss full on her lips. She affected indignation. It did not work, and Fritz laughed at her.

‘Delicious girl,’ he said.

‘Impudent boy,’ said Sophia.

‘Let’s both refuse to grow up,’ he said.

‘Apologize,’ said Sophia, fair and brilliant in her gown.

‘Apologize?’ said Fritz. ‘For kissing you?’

‘Yes.’

‘But how absurd,’ said Fritz. ‘We’ve met and soon we’ll part. A single meeting with a beautiful girl and a single kiss. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Do you kiss every girl with whom you have a single meeting?’

‘Only if they’re like you, haughty and beautiful. But of course, a single meeting with you is also absurd. I shall write to you out of the sky, Sophia von Feldermann, and end every letter with a thousand kisses.’

‘A thousand?’ said Sophia.

‘Give or take a few,’ said Fritz.

‘Am I expected to answer such letters?’

‘I shall be very put out if you don’t,’ said Fritz, ‘for every one will contain a declaration of love.’

‘Ridiculous,’ smiled Sophia.

‘Very,’ said Fritz, ‘but there it is, you’ve swept me off my feet and must take the consequences.’

Sophia laughed.

‘You’re crazy,’ she said.

‘So is everyone else. Haven’t you noticed the whole world’s insane?’

She looked at him. He wore his brittle recklessness as carelessly as he wore his new Iron Cross.

‘If you’re serious about writing to me,’ she said, ‘I’m staying at the Hotel Bristol with my mother for a while.’

He did write, and his letters were as amusing as he was. They met again three weeks later when he was given leave. She introduced him to her parents, her father also being in Berlin at the time. Her mother was gracious but cool, a sure sign she disapproved. It had no effect on Fritz. Life for him was in the balance, and social nuances of any kind were of no importance to him whatever. The long battle for air supremacy was going against Germany. The improved fighter planes of the Allies were causing an alarming increase in German fatalities, even in Richtofen’s squadron. Fritz wasted no time trying to impress Sophia’s mother. He concentrated on the conquest of Sophia, who came dangerously close to giving herself to him, understanding instinctively his need to experience all he could while he could – without in her innocence realizing he had already experienced the ultimate bliss in the arms of several women looking for wartime escapism of their own. For all her dislike of stuffier conventions, Sophia was naturally cautious. She could, in her spirit of independence, reject her chosen path, but she could not wholly reject her sense of morality. That upset her, making her feel she had a prudish streak. If Fritz had mentioned marriage, she might have risked the consequences and yielded. She was close to doing so at times, when Fritz’s kisses and caresses were demonstrably ardent.

Her mother hoped the association was no more than a little flutter in the storm of war. But when they had moved from Berlin to spend a month in Baden-Baden, Hildegarde von Feldermann discovered her daughter was still communicating regularly with Fritz, not only by letter but also by telephone. Gently, she advised Sophia to end the relationship. Sophia asked to be allowed to make up her own mind. Her mother asked if she could make it up sensibly. Sophia, defiant, said if Fritz proposed, she would accept, at which her mother said she would not allow her to make such a fool of herself. Knowing what this would mean, Sophia took to her heels a few days later, having received a telephone call from Fritz to say he had been shaken up by a crash-landing and was resting in Douai. Using the family car, she drove to France to seek her father’s support. Her father, surely, would not disapprove of one of Germany’s heroes of the air. Her mother guessed what was in her mind, which was why Sophia’s case with her father was already lost before she arrived.

But it was not completely lost once she had given the talkative Captain Vorster the slip. In a few weeks she would be twenty-one and an independent woman. Then, if Fritz was willing, she would marry him, with or without her parents’ consent, and when the war was over – and it had to be over soon – she would dance in the Bavarian cornfields with him. In Douai, she could see him, talk to him, and somehow let him know that if he would only ask she would gladly be his wife.

She used the rural byways, even though some of them were quite awful, in order to avoid being caught and taken back. The front, she thought at one point, could be no more than forty kilometres away, the rumble of guns spasmodic. She did not think about the hazards that might confront a young German lady travelling alone in the occupied area of France. Hers was a fearless spirit, and she never retreated from a challenge.

It was then that the biplanes of war came out of the clear blue sky.

‘C’est la guerre, mademoiselle.’

Sophia jumped and turned. There he was, the pilot of the burning Camel, his goggles up over his flying helmet, his face oily. A scarf was around his neck, and below his thick flying jacket were khaki breeches, tucked into brown boots. Khaki. He was as British as his plane. His legs were long, his frame sinewy, his face rugged beneath the smears of oil. His eyes were quick and flickering, a sign of nerves still stretched to the limit. He regarded her with interest, and a smile showed, as if in acknowledgement of the fact that her arrival was far more pleasurable than the significance of Richtofen’s triumphant departure. Her long black leather coat, belted, was not designed merely to keep out the cold. It was expensively styled, and it paid its tailored tribute to her curving figure. She was taller than the average woman at five feet nine, and carried herself with the pride of every Prussian aristocrat. The coat reached to her calves, partly hiding her knee-length, lace-up black boots. Her hat, a soft velour, was black with a white band, an onyx-topped pin keeping it securely in place. Beneath the brim, her pale blonde hair lay softly over her forehead, and her eyes were a bright blue because of the clear air and the sunshine. Sophia Erica Marlene von Feldermann was considered a highly desirable Prussian beauty.

Recovering from the shock of finding the British airman almost at her elbow, her thoughts ran quickly. It was natural for him to think she was French. No one would expect young German ladies to proliferate in occupied France. And the family car was not a German make, but a Bugatti.

She made up her mind to go along with his mistaken assumption – for the time being.

‘Oh, such a gallant escape,’ she said in fluent French.

‘Gallant?’ His laugh was self-derisive, his flickering eyes darting around to come to rest on the car. ‘I was beaten into the damned ground, and quite literally.’ His own French was as good as hers, for it had been perfected during his months of service in France. He looked up at the sky. Richtofen and his red Albatros had disappeared. Nearby, the Camel was a fiery, crackling furnace. ‘I must get out of here before the Germans arrive to inspect Richtofen’s latest kill.’

‘Richtofen?’ said Sophia innocently.

‘Yes, that was the Baron who knocked me out. Mademoiselle, do you live in this area?’

While relieved in all humanity that he had not perished in the flames of his crashed plane, Sophia felt a natural and distinct coldness towards him and his country. England had gone to war against Germany quite unfairly and quite unnecessarily. And it was the British Navy’s harsh blockade that was causing starvation amongst the German people.

‘I’m from Valenciennes,’ she said, which was not wholly untrue.

‘Valenciennes?’ He thought about it. ‘Is that your car?’

‘My family’s,’ said Sophia.

‘I’m Captain Peter Marsh, Royal Flying Corps,’ he said, ‘and I need to move fast and to find an escape route. Could you drive me to Valenciennes?’

‘I could,’ said Sophia, simulating a sympathy she did not feel, ‘but wouldn’t advise it, mon Capitaine. Valenciennes is a restricted area and full of Germans. You must run for cover somewhere, of course. To a village, perhaps, where the people will hide you until you can get back to your squadron.’

Captain Marsh, eyes searching the unbroken quietness of the countryside, said, ‘Mademoiselle, you know this area, obviously. I’d like you to drive me somewhere fast, somewhere safe.’

Sophia did not think that even a genuine Frenchwoman would take too kindly to the peremptory nature of that demand. She herself wholly disliked it. Nor was she very keen on a situation that had her face to face with a man who was at war with her country. She lowered her eyes to hide her reaction, and noted then that his left glove was off, his hand resting on his right elbow.

Opting for delaying tactics, she said, ‘Your hand is hurt?’

‘I gave it a nasty knock, yes,’ he said. ‘But I was lucky. I was, by the grace of God, allowed just enough time to scramble clear before the plane blew up.’

Without thinking of her reaction, Sophia said coolly, ‘God is on your side?’

‘Mademoiselle?’

Correcting herself, she said, ‘I am sure He is, mon Capitaine, I am sure He is on the side of all our brave men. Shall I look at your hand?’

‘Not now.’ He seemed a little impatient. ‘Mademoiselle, would you oblige me by getting me as far from here as possible, and as quickly as you can?’

Sophia, trapped by her adoption of a French identity, felt a surge of dislike. She was by no means disposed to help him escape. Men from the German Luftwaffe would not be long in arriving once Richtofen reported his victory. If she could keep the Englishman talking, things might resolve themselves conveniently for her.

‘Mon Capitaine, I really think—’

‘I’m sorry, there’s no time for a conversation,’ said Captain Marsh. ‘I’d like to depart immediately.’

‘You are insisting?’

‘Insisting?’ He looked surprised. ‘You’d rather I waited for the Germans to arrive, or a crowd of farmworkers? Or both? I’d be gobbled up by the Germans, and I’d be an embarrassment to the workers.’

‘The car is very noticeable,’ she said.

‘Not as noticeable as Poppy the Third,’ he said.

‘Poppy?’

‘That’s Poppy.’ He indicated the still-burning Camel. ‘She’s the third flying bird I’ve mismanaged. Two in the Middle East. Your car will get me out of here faster than my legs, or would you prefer not to be involved? I’ll understand, naturally.’

She thought him impatient rather than understanding. She supposed most French-women would do something to help a shot-down British pilot, but if she decided to be the exception, there was little he could do about it.

Politely, she said, ‘I’d prefer, if the Germans stopped us, not to have you feel responsible for them shooting me. People who assist Germany’s enemies do get shot. It’s quite legal. If it happened to me, I’m sure you’d be most unhappy, yes?’

His expression hardened. He frowned.

‘Then I’ll drive your car myself,’ he said. ‘I’ve given my hand a knock, but I’ll manage. You can stay here, and when the Germans arrive, as they will, simply tell them I made off with your car. They won’t shoot you for that.’

That proposition, brusquely delivered, did not suit Sophia at all. She needed the car for her own purposes, to get to Fritz, a man who in his reckless disregard for convention might in the happiest way help her to break free from the possessive dominance of her mother. She would have to compromise, she would have to bluff this pilot. He was not only the first enemy fighting man she had encountered, he was also the first Englishman she had met. She was not very impressed.

‘Very well, mon Capitaine, I’ll drive you,’ she said. ‘I’m on my way to Douai. I’ll take you there. It will be safer for you than Valenciennes. You can wait outside the town until it’s dark, and then I’ll come to meet you again and take you to people who will help you.’

What she must actually do was tell Fritz. As a loyal German citizen she had no alternative, and Fritz would know how to deal with the man.

Captain Marsh’s inspection of the open Bugatti was brief. She got in, and he took his place beside her.

‘Your arrival, mademoiselle, at the critical moment and in this car, was very fortuitous. To Douai, then, and thank you.’

‘Thank me only if we meet no German patrols,’ she said. ‘For if we do, they’ll stop us, and I’ll be able to do nothing for you then – or for myself.’

She started the car and moved off.

Captain Marsh said, ‘It needn’t be as bad as that for you – I have my service revolver.’

‘Oh, my God,’ she said in sudden shock, ‘you don’t mean to open fire on any patrols – you can’t.’

‘Suicidal, I agree,’ he said, and laughed. ‘No, let’s look at it differently. Let’s give the impression, if necessary, that a man on the run wouldn’t hesitate to commandeer your car and your services as driver. Your case would be that I threatened you with my revolver.’

‘A flying officer would be as ungallant as that?’ she said, as they left the smouldering Camel behind.

‘Not ungallant. Practical. Drive on, mademoiselle.’