Night Flight Read Online Free PDF Page A

idea of this map, Robineau?”
    He had a way of springing conundrums of this sort when he came out of a brown study.
    â€œThe map, Monsieur Rivière? Well—”
    As a matter of fact he had no ideas on the subject; nevertheless, frowning at the map, he roved all Europe and America with an inspectorial eye. Meanwhile Rivière, in silence, pursued his train of thought. “On the face of it, a pretty scheme enough—but it’s ruthless. When one thinks of all the lives, young fellows’ lives, it has cost us! It’s a fine, solid thing and we must bow to its authority, of course; but what a host of problems it presents!” With Rivière, however, nothing mattered save the end in view.
    Robineau, standing beside him with his eyes
fixed on the map, was gradually pulling himself together. Pity from Rivière was not to be expected; that he knew. Once he had chanced it, explaining how that grotesque infirmity of his had spoilt his life. All he had got from Rivière was a jeer. “Stops you sleeping, eh? So much the better for your work!”
    Rivière spoke only half in jest. One of his sayings was: “If a composer suffers from loss of sleep and his sleeplessness induces him to turn out masterpieces, what a profitable loss it is!” One day, too, he had said of Leroux: “Just look at him! I call it a fine thing, ugliness like that—so perfect that it would warn off any sweetheart!” And perhaps, indeed, Leroux owed what was finest in him to his misfortune, which obliged him to live only for his work.
    â€œPellerin’s a great friend of yours, isn’t he, Robineau?”
    â€œWell—”
    â€œI’m not reproaching you.”
    Rivière made a half-turn and with bowed head, taking short steps, paced to and fro with Robineau. A bitter smile, incomprehensible to Robineau, came to his lips.
    â€œOnly ... only you are his chief, you see.”
    â€œYes,” said Robineau.
    Rivière was thinking how tonight, as every night, a battle was in progress in the southern sky. A moment’s weakening of the will might spell defeat; there was, perhaps, much fighting to be done before the dawn.
    â€œYou should keep your place, Robineau.” Rivière weighed his words. “You may have to order this
pilot tomorrow night to start on a dangerous flight. He will have to obey you.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThe lives of men worth more than you are in your hands.” He seemed to hesitate. “It’s a serious matter.”
    For a while Rivière paced the room in silence, taking his little steps.
    â€œIf they obey you because they like you, Robineau, you’re fooling them. You have no right to ask any sacrifice of them.”
    â€œNo, of course not.”
    â€œAnd if they think that your friendship will get them off disagreeable duties, you’re fooling them again. They have to obey in any case. Sit down.”
    With a touch of his hand Rivière gently propelled Inspector Robineau toward the desk.
    â€œI am going to teach you a lesson, Robineau. If you feel run down it’s not these men’s business to give you energy. You are their chief. Your weakness is absurd. Now write!”
    â€œI—”
    â€œWrite.
Inspector Robineau imposes the penalty stated hereunder on Pellerin, Pilot, on the following grounds.
... You will discover something to fill in the blanks.”
    â€œSir!”
    â€œAct as though you understood, Robineau. Love the men under your orders—but do not let them know it.”
    So, once more, Robineau would supervise the cleaning of each propeller-boss, with zest.
    ***
    An emergency landing ground sent in a radio message.
Plane in sight. Plane signals: Engine Trouble; about to land.
    That meant half an hour lost. Rivière felt that mood of irritation the traveler knows when his express is held up by a signal and the minutes no longer yield their toll of passing hedgerows. The large clock