In the last episode: Within moments the befuddled mechanics were grinning widely and nodding their understanding of the situation. They immediately turned their attention to my ailing engine and soon announced via Wellman that the engine could be repaired, but such repairs could not be completed until the next day.
Perversely, this news seemed to delight Wellman, and as he gave me a tour of the Luneville aerodrome, I came to understand why. Bill explained that he was the only American assigned to the aerodrome and my remaining overnight there meant he would have the great pleasure of a fellow countryman with whom to share the evening. And share the evening we did, staying up half the night drinking the worst wine I have ever tasted while comparing our flying experiences and chatting about our plans for when the war ended. Bill had a yen to get into the motion picture business.
As promised, my Spad was ready to fly by noon the following day, and with some reluctance, I bid my new friend adieu and made for home. Our paths were to cross a few more times before we left for home, and each time we met our friendship grew.
It is said that opposites attract one another and this was certainly the case with Wellman and me. To begin with, and as I have already noted, Wellman served in France as an American volunteer with the Lafayette Escadrille rather than as a member of the U.S. Army Air Service as I had.
Another difference between Wellman and I had to do with our methods of air combat. I believed my meager contributions to the allied victory in France were the result of cautiously and carefully thought out strategies, and flying with as much precision as I could muster.
Wild Bill, on the other hand, earned his nickname flying with reckless abandon, relying more on flying skill and luck than planning and precision. While quite definitely not my way of doing things, I could not fault Wellman's methods for on his uniform blouse he wore the Croix de Guerre—the highly respected French medal of valor given to individuals who distinguished themselves by acts of heroism involving combat with enemy forces. What is more, his Croix de Guerre was decorated with two palm leaves, indicating he had earned the medal three times over. That is a feat not to be considered lightly.
Despite these and the many other differences between us, Wild Bill and I were good pals—a friendship that would last long beyond our respective tours of duty at Rockwell Field. In my case, that tour ended in mid-June, 1919, at which time I was mustered out of the Army. Having completed my service to my Uncle Sam, I returned home to Los Angeles and resumed a fledgling writing career barely begun before joining the Army Air Service two years earlier.
THE END
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Story and design © Steve Eitzen
Header Graphic & HPO Logo © HPO Productions
Lafayette Escadrille insignia is from the Smithsonian Institution
Croix de Guerre image modified from a public domain photograph