The Captain Knew Me Before the Passenger Did

one of the wounded men was nineteen and kept saying he was sorry for bleeding on the floor. How my copilot, Jenks, had a shard of plexiglass in his shoulder and kept flying because there wasn’t another choice in reach.

How after the blast, after the screaming and alarms and smoke, I’d still gotten the bird down.

Badly.

But down.

And then two weeks later continue reading …