In the tiger's lair — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
In the tiger's lair
John Stuart Mill · en
“It will have to be for me, too, I guess, but think of those fellows
playing among the clouds while we swallow dust on the road or wallow
in knee-deep mud in the trenches. Think of the glory of fighting miles
above the earth!”
“What’s the matter? Not feeling sorry for yourself, are you?”
Ted ignored this remark. His thoughts were high above in the ethereal
blue, where the airplane had been manœuvring with such graceful ease
but a few minutes before.
“I want to fly and do my fighting up there,” he said to himself more
than to any one else in particular.
“And be shot down and hit the ground so hard it would take the whole
police squad a week to dig you out,” Ted’s neighbor, whose name was
Carter, interrupted. “Not for me! I’ll take mine down here, where I
know there is something safe and solid under my two feet.”
The company reached the barracks with just fifteen minutes in which to
brush up for retreat. There was no time for discussion or conversation,
but that night, just before taps, it was reported that a commission
had arrived whose object it was to select men for the air service;
several would be accepted from each company. That accounted for the
sudden appearance of the air-ship that afternoon; it was part of the
advertising plan to secure the necessary number of men.
Ted called on his captain immediately, and was told to report to the
major in charge of the commission on the following morning.
There was no sleep for him that night. The hours dragged as he tossed
restlessly on his hard bunk and listened to the heavy breathing of
the other men, and when morning came he was so excited he was sure he
should be rejected on that very account. But the major was inclined
to make allowances, and informed Ted that he might expect to be
transferred at no far-distant date.
The order releasing him from duty with the company and sending him
southward to the ground school in Texas came two weeks later. And two
days after that Ted was speeding toward his new station.
Then followed three months of the hardest kind of work; there were long
lectures and hours of study upon the organization of foreign armies,
interspersed with periods of calisthenics and infantry drill; also
instructions on topics connected with flying, such as motors, rigging,
gunnery, and wireless. Every one worked at top speed to assimilate as
much as possible of the knowledge with which he was being crammed; that
occupied all the hours of daylight and part of the night, too, so there
was little time to form close and lasting friendships. Everybody was so
busy with his own problems that it was impossible to pay much attention
to the other fellow.
But the three months were up at last, and Ted, standing near the head
of his section, was promptly sent to flying school. Those who were not
so fortunate in their marks were sent to concentration camps to wait
weeks, even months, for their turn.