He knew most of all that he wanted to go home — that there was something at home he had to get, and he didn’t even know what it was. During the long, hard training, there had not been time to think of himself nor to want anything.
The ceremony at the end was unreal. He stood with sixteen others — all of them rigid as cypress logs, and the silver wings were pinned to his blouse over his heart. There was a speech by the Colonel, and half of his mind heard it… the other half was going home.
He walked to his Model-A Ford, got in, and slammed the door.
From the corners of his eyes, he could see the gold bars on his shoulders. The silver wings were heavy over his heart.
He started the clattering open roadster, listened for a moment to the slapping pistons, and drove away in the sunny golden afternoon.
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