MISS NAPOLEON

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXV, Issue 23111, 9 August 1938, Page 17

MISS NAPOLEON

By V. M. METHLEY

CHAPTER XXVI. VERDUN Pete Walters stared at Leonie confusedly. "Don't you see, if I did what you say risk being court-martialled?" he | said helplessly. "Well ? Are you so much afraid of that?" There was contempt in the cold tones, and the boy reddened. "No, I'm not. And I'm not afraid of you shooting me up either. You can take your tongue off that!" he blurted out angrily. "But what if we crashed or got into a fight? What if you were killed? And me in charge of the 'plane 1" "That's entirely my own business. If you were killed, too, it wouldn't matter to either of us. If you weren't — there's not the slightest need for you ever to have known of my existence. I don't want you to." "Well, but how'd I know you're not . . .P" "A spy? You do know it, don't you?" "Why—yes .... I s'pose so . . "Of course you do. You're not a fool," Leonie said incisively. "Well?" "Don't see any 'well' about it, but . . "I'm surely entitled to travel in ono of the 'planes that I helped to give to the French Aviation? That seems to me only reasonable after' all." "Sure it does, but . . ." "You'll do it, then? Thanks . . Suddenly, transforming, transfiguring, her smile shone upon the young pilot, and he stood shuffling his boots and colouring more furiously than before. As he said later to a friend: "Up till then, I saw she'd got a way with her—sort of distinguished, you know. But, by heck, when she smiled, she turned into a raving, tearing beauty, and you sort of felt you'd do anything for her and be proud of it." Leonie's faith was fully justified. All went smoothly from the moment when Walters admitted an overalled, leathercoated, lcather-helmeted figure into the hangar until that other, some time before six o'clock next morning when the aeroplane was run out from its hangar, over the frosted turf. The air was still and very cold; every sound seemed unnaturally loud as the mechanics obeyed the pilot's orders to start the engine. The reverberating roar rose, deafeningly; the aeroplane taxied along some fifty paces, turned into the wind, rose —rose up into the clear darkness of the dawn. At last Leonie was fi'ee to push aside the waterproof sheet which had covered her in order to look out. In front rose the head and shoulders of the pilot, silhouetted against the lucent space of sky which was visible to her, darkly, Transparently blue with a tender green pulsing through it, foretelling the sun's coming. And in that space of sky hung one great star. They seemed to be flying straight toward it, to be using it as a shining skv-mark to guide the course of the 'plane. Leonie, drawing herself up, gazed at it steadily, its light reflected in her eyes. She hardly realised the incessant roar of the engines; she felt as though a great stillness enclosed her, and for a long time she sat motionless, unwilling to break that sense of .unreality, which seemed yet to be reality itself. When at last she moved, the sky was clear amber, the star fading; leaning over the cockpit's edge, she saw the country beneatfy them slowly emerging from the shadows, glittering silverwhite under fresh-fallen snow. Snow hid much of the hideous mutilation of that torn countryside, snow covered the shell-holes, veiled the heaps of ruins which had once been farms and peaceful cottage homes, set about by poplars. ' v .. And now the dark streak of a river showed against the whiteness, bisecting the clustered buildings of a town, which appeared as a close pattern mainly of red and white in the growing light of day. "Verdun . . Leonie's brain commented, checking her knowledge. There, guarding #the great pleateau, holding it against the enemy—Douaumont —Vaux Hardaumont Saures, the line of 'forts held by the French . . . Held? Who could be certain of it; who could say what was happening, for over all that sector hung the dense smoke of a bombardment, and from it rose the thud and crash and rattle, the infernal pandemonium of guns, great and small. Down lower —lower . . . Now they were no more than some five hundred feet above the earth. Walters took a short turn into the wind, nose down, with the motor stopped, so that the roar of the guns suddenly seemed to redouble itfself in the engine's silence. They were skimming along, flattening out, gradually losing speed, until the wheels touched ground, slowed down ... As they did so, Leonie was standing up, climbing out of tho cockpit. She swung herself down, raised one hand. "Right! We can't shake but thanks a thousand times. . . And goodbye!" "Sorry I couldn't plunk you down nearer," Walters shouted above the rising roar of the engine, as he once more made contact. "Wouldn't have been a safe landing. Good luck!—goodbye." . His voice was drowned completely as the 'plane taxied along at ever-increas-ing speed, just skimming the ground, rising. He leant over the side of the cockpit, waving his hand, saw the darkclad figure, the face raised, pale against the helmet which framed it, a face which had on its lips the smile which Pcto Walters had only seen once before, which he was never to forget. . . Up into the clear vault of the sky the aeroplane rose, grew smaller, vanished while Leonie still stood with head raised, following its flight.

CHAPTER XXVII INTO BATTLE The gaunt farm ruins in which Leonie had taken shelter were nearer to Fort Douaumont than she had realised; one lip of the hollow in which the buildings crouched was indeed the actual crest of the escarpment and the road which ran down a cleft to the village and Fort of Vaux was close by. The walls which still stood gave a semblance of safety, but she knew that this was illusory. At any moment the dream—and the ruins . themselves—might be shattered by a direct hit; a shell had already fallen just beyond the enclosure, fdling the air with brick dust. Well, at least, standing in this angle, sho M'as partly sheltered from the wind. So she remained there, head bent, hands thrust deep into the pockets of her leather coat, watching the snow drift higher and higher and higher against the opposite wall. She was waiting; waiting for some sign that the

(COPYRIGHT)

An arresting story of a remarkable personality whose feminine appeal is ever present, but whose life purpose leads to strange heights.

right moment had come. And that both the sign and the moment would come, Leonie never doubted. Suddenly a movement caught her eye. She glanced up and saw a man stagger in through the ruined doorway, a man who was wounded —and dying. That was plain in his face. He paused on seeing her, staring wildly, and in a second she was by his side, supporting and lowering him gently to the ground. "Where . . • from, comrade?" he whispered. He was a French poilu, snow unmelted on the shoulders and back of his overcoat, blood and grime streaking his face. "From the sky. An aeroplane from Bar-10-Dno dropped me here, with a message for the Commandant at Fort Douaumont." A ghastly kind of grin twisted the man's face. He spoke faintly. "I've come . . . from there . . . We're cut off ... . no telephone . . . Can't communicate . . . No runners got through , . . I . . . tried ... to bring reinforcements ..." His head fell forward, then rose again with a jerk, as though he had suddenly remembered something. His hand fumbled at his breast, brought out something from under his coat which moved, turned a tiny head, bright-eyed, alert. "Pigeon . . !" He indicated the message case attached under its wing, then loosened his grip. The bird fluttered to his knee, seemed to try its wings, then flew up to the top of the wall, perched for a moment, rose again and circled round, its grey plumage strangely pale against the dark sky, so that it seemed a luminously white bird circling there. It had turned, heading south, when a long whine sounded from overhead, followed by a deafening crash. Leonie ducked involuntarily, as shell splinters and fragments of mortar fell around them. And something else. A little wisp of reddened feathers that fluttered helplessly down from the skv, turned this way and that by the wind, until it reached ground again close to the soldier's booted foot. He stared at the shattered body of the pigeon and made a hoarse, croaking sound in his throat, as though trying to laugh. "Failed. . . like me . . ! he gasped. "Listen . . .!" Leonie bent over him. "Could 1 take the message?" "No—chance . . •" he answered. "Their fire . . - sweeping the plateau ..." "But if no help comes? "Can't hold on —impossible —I Ah! What's that?" (To bo concluded)