to fly.
After one successful reconnaissance mission over France he was grounded—the result of a crash-landing. He was to spend almost a year in Algiers before he was permitted to fly again. Some of his friends put pressure on him to accept desk jobs or diplomatic assignments. Others agreed that he should be permitted to rejoin his group.
“The only thing that remained were the war missions,” he wrote, “a few hours spent flying over France—something of the dignity of an icy scaff old. It suited me fine. But being unemployed I have nothing to look forward to that means anything to me. Sickening discussions, polemics, slander—I’m bored by the morass I’m entering.... Everything is mediocre, I can’t stand it. At 35,000 feet I was beyond mediocrity. Now I no longer have that outlet.”
Finally, the Americans approved five more reconnaissance missions from a base at Alghero in Sardinia. Saint-Exupéry felt rejuvenated. He flew his five missions, surviving engine failure, fire on board, fainting due to lack of oxygen, and pursuit by German fighters.
In July 1944, the group was moved to Corsica in preparation for the final thrust to liberate France. Saint-Exupéry asked to be assigned further flying missions. His close friends were now desperately concerned for his safety and conspired to have him grounded.
He was permitted one final flight.
It was his tenth reconnaissance mission. Sortie No: XX 335 176. Date: July 31, 1944. Time out: 0845.
At 1 p.m. he had not returned. At 2.30 p.m., after numerous phone calls and radar and radio searches, his comrades and commanding officer knew there was no longer any hope of his still being airborne. At 3.30 an American liaison officer signed the interrogation report: “Pilot did not return and is presumed lost.”
For over fifty years, no trace of Saint-Exupéry or his aircraft would be found. What came to light, however, was that the Messerschmitt pilot who shot Saint-Exupéry down over the Mediterranean unwittingly killed his hero and role model. The young German not only owned all the French author’s works in translation; he knew everything that was to be known about him, and had enlisted in the Luftwaffe on the strength of his admiration of St-Exupéry’s pioneering flights across the Andes and the Sahara.
I have no idea how my colleagues responded to these details, but I do remember vividly running into Peter Alcock a few days later and being taken to task for the unsubstantiated story I had told. “Where did you get all stuff about Saint-Exupéry being shot down by someone who’d read all his books?” Peter asked. “I’ve been through all the critical biographies in the library and I’m damned if I can find any reference to any German airman who shot Saint-Exupéry down. You sure you got your facts right?”
I told Peter I had read the story in an introduction to one of Saint-Exupéry’s books. It had been an English translation. I couldn’t remember the title. I said I’d try to remember more details and get back to him.
Peter phoned me at home. He’d been doing some more checking and had come up with nothing. Was I sure of my source?
“Now you’ve got me mystified,” I said. I told him I would go through all the Saint-Exupéry books in the university library and see if I could find the one I had in mind. “It’s going back a few years, though,” I said. I could tell that Peter was beginning to suspect that I was putting him on.
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