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’TIL WE MEET AGAIN<br />
sure whether it was something I’d heard in a lecture or something<br />
I’d been told by an instructor on one <strong>of</strong> my accompanied<br />
flights, but I figured I had nothing to lose. I threw the<br />
switch that turned the carburetor heat back on, swallowed<br />
hard, and pushed the joystick forward, sending the plane<br />
into a dive. Everything about the move went against my<br />
instinct for self- preservation, but it was my only hope.<br />
I stared at the propeller in front <strong>of</strong> the cockpit and tried<br />
to ignore the sight <strong>of</strong> the ground just beyond it. <strong>The</strong>n,<br />
almost magically, the propeller started to turn again. My<br />
ears filled with the sound <strong>of</strong> the engine charging back to<br />
life, and the tension that had gripped my stomach vanished<br />
in an instant.<br />
When I was sure I’d regained control, I pulled out <strong>of</strong> the<br />
dive and made the ten miles back to base. I landed carefully<br />
and taxied to the hangar. <strong>The</strong>re was no need to tell<br />
any <strong>of</strong> the instructors, and as soon as I could, I lay down<br />
on my cot and thanked God for keeping me safe. You only<br />
make a mistake like that once. Even more than the formal<br />
lessons I’d learned about stalls and spins and how to keep<br />
an engine running, that was the day I learned not to let my<br />
mind wander. If I was going to survive the war, I would<br />
have to learn how to pour all my concentration into the<br />
moment in front <strong>of</strong> me.<br />
<strong>The</strong> three months at Gonzaga passed quickly, and while<br />
I was disappointed that a few <strong>of</strong> my fellow cadets were<br />
✪<br />
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