He drew Minneapolis for preflight training. What a camp that had been! He was flying again, real combat planes. Formations, sham dogfights, night flying, following the light of the plane ahead round and round.
A truly great camp. A grand USO with bowling, billiards, a movie every week, warm-hearted city folks, and plenty of girls. How he had hated it when the day came to pack up and leave.
And then there was the long, hard pull in Texas. Some of the boys “washed out.” Jack was determined not to let that happen to him. It did not.
He disliked the heat and the great, flat plains of Texas, but most of the time he had been too busy to notice them.
Before long it was time for that new suit of blues and the brief ceremony that made him an ensign and gave him his wings.
Deck training at Great Lakes, then a short leave to bid farewell to the folks at home.
Those fleeting days in the old home town left delightful, exciting memories. The good folks of the little city had done their best to show him that they really appreciated the sacrifices he must make to fight for them. He even forgave the old golfers who had threatened to report him when he had scared them half to death on his flying visit to the golf course months before.
When it came time to go he had told Pop and Mom good-by at home because he wanted it that way. At the last moment Patsy had insisted on walking to the depot with him.
When the train whistled, she had put out a hand for a good, honest handshake, and had said, “Well, so long old pal. Have a good time. Take good care of yourself, and plea—please come back, for we all need you so much!”
Patsy’s voice had sounded a bit strange. He could hear her still, “Plea—please come back.” It was strange about him and Patsy.