be using.
The instrument flying was done in a Link Trainer, a small mock-up of an airplane
cockpit that rested on a movable base, enabling the pilot in the cockpit to put the plane
through any maneuver, including stalls, loops, spins and rolls. A black hood was put over
the top of the cockpit so that the pilot was flying blind, using only the instruments in front
of him. The instructor outside the Trainer fed orders to the pilot, giving him directions for
takeoffs and landings in the face of strong wind velocity, storms, mountain ranges and
every other simulated hazard conceivable. Most inexperienced pilots went into the Link
Trainer with a feeling of confidence, but they soon learned that the little Trainers were
much more difficult to operate than they appeared to be. It was an eerie sensation to be
alone in the tiny cockpit, all senses cut off from the outside world.
Larry was a gifted pupil. He was attentive in class and absorbed everything he was
taught. He did all his homework and did it well and carefully. He showed no sign of
impatience, restlessness or boredom. On the contrary, he was the most eager pupil in the
course and certainly the most outstanding. The only area that was new to Larry was the
equipment, the DC-4. The Douglas planes were long, sleek aircraft with some equipment
that had not been in existence when the war began. Larry spent hours going over every
inch of the plane, studying the way it had been put together and the way it functioned.
Evenings he pored over the dozens of service manuals of the plane.
Late one night after all the other trainees had left the hangar Sakowitz had come upon
Larry in one of the DC-4s, lying on his back under the cockpit, examining the wiring.
“I tell you, the son-of-a-bitch is gunning for my job,” Sakowitz told Carl Eastman the
next morning.
“The way he’s going, he may get it,” Eastman grinned.
At the end of the eight weeks there was a little graduation ceremony. Catherine
proudly flew to New York to be there when they presented Larry with his navigator’s
wings.
He tried to make light of it. “Cathy, it’s just a stupid little piece of cloth they give you
so you’ll remember what your job is when you get into the cockpit.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said. “I talked to Captain Sakowitz and he told me how
good you are.”
“What does a dumb Polack know?” Larry said. “Let’s go celebrate.”
That night Catherine and Larry and four of Larry’s classmates and their wives went
to the Twenty-one Club on East Fifty-second Street for dinner. The foyer was crowded,
and the maître d’ told them that without reservations there were no tables available.
“To hell with this place,” Larry said. “Let’s go next door to Toots Shor’s.”
“Wait a minute,” Catherine said. She went over to the captain and asked to see Jerry
Berns.
A few moments later a short, thin man with inquisitive gray eyes bustled up.