Determined to put an end to this merciless chiding for once and for all, he rose and started to leave the cockpit just as Panama intervened.
“Never mind that fresh mug. Just keep your mind on your job, kid, and you’ll show ’em all up!”
The sergeant’s words helped to quiet the boy but he was still in anything but a calm and collected condition.
After attaching his Gasborne helmet, his hand managed to find the throttle and the dormant motor came into action.
All at once, that ill-fated day in the Yale Bowl came back to him, throwing his senses into utter confusion and rattling his nerves.
He turned and caught the derision plainly visible upon the faces of all except Panama’s.
Impulsively, his hand shoved the throttle and the plane eased forward.
His face became a blank, emotionless thing as he strived to concentrate upon the mechanical contrivances. A sickening feeling gripped him, making him feel that he was licked before he started.
Quickly he let his fingers drop from the throttle only to allow both hands to “freeze” on the stick as the ship continued to rapidly gain momentum.
His eyes became blurred and his head began to swim as the plane swiftly swerved past barbed wire fences, nurses, soldiers, some sailors and marines and an official car.