Suddenly, a lone pursuit plane flew over the field like a majestic eagle.
The pilot pushed the stick forward and the plane slowly glided down toward earth, an almost human thing, beautiful to gaze upon, graceful as a large bird and perfectly handled at the controls by an expert airman.
As the landing gears touched ground and the plane taxied along to the place where other ships stood idle, Lefty, who was standing with a group of newly arrived recruits, noticed the bold, red flying devil painted directly under the cockpit.
Presently the prize ship came to a stop and the familiar figure of Sergeant Panama Williams crawled out of the cockpit, attired in greasy, oil-stained flying togs.
As his feet once more touched ground, he handed his parachute to a waiting mechanic and reached into the pocket of his blouse for a chew of tobacco.
Lefty’s heart leaped with joy for here was a friend among this great, countless group of strange, indifferent enlisted men and officers.
Here was a man, the one person in all the world who had instilled a feeling of confidence within him when everyone else delighted in ridiculing his unfortunate play.
“That’s Sergeant Williams,” announced a corporal assigned to watch the new squad of rookies. “He’s the man who will instruct you fellows.”
Panama removed his Gasborne helmet and, in characteristic fashion, crossed the field to join a group of noncommissioned officers.
“Well, there’s a new batch of students over there, waiting for you, Panama,” a flying sergeant announced as Williams joined the group. “More students means more work.”