Susanne
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doc#147 black against the green jungle around it. He possessed the fighter pilot's horror of
doc#147 their way back in this unfamiliar territory. He shivered in the warm cockpit. </p><p> The
doc#147 bombers that were headed north over the Gulf. He dropped down to five hundred feet, swinging
doc#147 was as great as if the sun had come out. He spread the flight out and led them across
doc#147 of enemy contacts made by other flights. He thought once that he identified the somewhat
doc#147 breath and plunged back into the valley. He was about to make a gas check on his flight
doc#147 eyes flicked up from his instrument panel. He saw them, specks against the gray, but
doc#147 from the hours of Aircraft Identification. He narrowed the shape down to two: either
doc#147 seconds, Greg made his decision. </p><p> He pushed the radio button. "Sweeney Blue,
doc#147 in this canyon. That's an order". </p><p> He moved the flights over against one wall
doc#147 the engine noise. "They haven't seen us". He hit the radio button. "Now, Sweeneys, now
doc#147 Sweeneys, now. Let's take 'em home". </p><p> He hauled back on the stick and felt his cheeks
doc#147 half-gainer from a diving board. </p><p> He tightened his turn. His nose up. It was
doc#147 , make my pilots good, he prayed. </p><p> He took a lead on the enemy, using a distance
doc#147 ground. </p><p> Wingman, stay clear, he prayed. He pushed stick and rudder and entered the
doc#147 rudder and entered the overcast on his back. He fought the panic of vertigo. He had no
doc#147 his back. He fought the panic of vertigo. He had no idea which was up and which was
doc#147 no idea which was up and which was down. He held the controls where they had been.
doc#148 his age saw in him was a mystery to me. He already had that slow pace that comes over
doc#148 switched on the lights she said: </p><p> " He will not always be indisposed". </p><p> "