Brings back memories of home, he thought, as he sighed again. Here’s hoping I get back there some time. Memories! How strange his life had been! Thousands cheer, he thought grimly. Thousands had cheered his music, and now he played to the rocks, the birds, and the broad sea. But the war is a thrilling adventure—he squared his shoulders—I wouldn’t have missed it for worlds! From the moment he had passed his tests and joined the Navy, his life as a flying cadet had been thrilling. He thought it by far the finest branch of the service. First had come his civil aeronautics training. An instructor had taken him up and scared him almost to death. Next time he went up, he was given the controls and told to fly. And he had flown! Two months of this and he had thought himself a finished flier. He did not know then that he needed to gain a great deal more knowledge than he had. He had wanted all the world to know how good he was, especially Mom, Pop, and the home-town folks. The old home town was “out-of-bounds” for him, but what of that? When he was given two hours of free flying, he had headed for home, thirty miles away. It had taken a lot of treetop clipping to get Mom and Pop out to see him fly, for he had not written them he was coming. He got them out at last, and waved them a salute. Then he had flown over the golf course where only a year before he was a mere caddy. Stalling his plane, he had come zooming down from three thousand feet to scare caddies and golfers half to death, then had zoomed away. Some of the older golfers who had never taken a chance in all their lives, who had never flown a mile nor been obliged to fight for their country, had taken the number of his plane and threatened to report him for reckless flying. Had they? He did not know. All he did know was that he had flown gloriously on. Next came Iowa City. No flying there, but plenty of study and hardening up. It was summer and hot as an oven. The trainers were relentless. Marches, races, hurdles, football, boxing, and all the rest he took in his stride. He got a broken nose from football, a black eye from boxing, and a sprained ankle in high hurdles. There was little time for social affairs and when there was, one was almost too hot and tired to care. One bright spot stood out in that whole summer—the night he took the Commandant’s daughter to the banquet and dance given for his group as their training ended. He remembered still her gay laughter and the bright sparkle of her eyes. 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.