I accused him of being arbitrary for not giving valid reasons against the plan whereupon he sprang to his feet and puckering up in his singular way, exclaimed, “I am running this Air Service, Lieutenant, and I don’t need any suggestions from First Lieutenants.”
Tired and exhausted from lack of sleep, a court martial didn’t matter any more to me than five cents does to a millionaire, and Brereton, who had suffered the same loss of sleep and, of course, more serious irritation on account of his responsibility, did not care any more for a poor Lieutenant than an elephant does for a fly. The dog’s hair had been rubbed the wrong way for I reared up on my hind legs and began to paw air and it looked like the Corps Air Service was to have a slight disruption. I was so sore that I almost bawled. I hotly informed Brereton that if I was to hold the job of Operations Officer I intended to express my opinion, and if it wasn’t approved, he had a right to say so in a military manner, and in no other.
Then came my downfall. I raved on, “I’m getting good and tired of this proposition of being stuck up on one of these bullet-proof jobs when all my buddies are flying two and three times a day and getting killed,” and after a moment of silence, I continued, “I came over to be a fighter and I want to go to the Squadron and take my chances with the rest of them.”
Brereton was worn out and was in no mood to be irritated. “Well,” he sharply and decisively replied, “if you want to go down to the Squadron, go ahead, no one’s holding you.”
This made me more peevish than ever, for I had in some way or other acquired the idea that the Corps Air Service could not possibly exist without me. My pride was bruised forever. With even more irony he went on as if to leave no opportunity for a repetition of such bluffing on my part, “If you’re so hardboiled and brave, why don’t you tackle the mission you just outlined. Go ahead and win yourself the Croix de Bois (Cross of Wood).”
I was serious about the proposition; I was pretty sure of getting killed, but after that last sneering remark my decision was formed. Momentarily, I hated Lewis Hyde Brereton more than I ever hated any one in my life, but I knew his weakness, so, I was determined that we should die together.