Later he wrote, “We have been working out like football players. More than most people want to realize, aerial combat is a team effort, and the men have to know each other well. In our exercises I have been working with 2nd Lt. William P. Gibbs, of Oakland, California. Billy will be my wingman. He’ll have to protect me. I am the offense and he is the defense and counterpunch. He is twenty-one and single and a cheery character. He is an excellent pilot and I am in good hands. Where I will be going he will be, too, protecting me. It is something to think about—there are a lot of things on that order over here.”

Karen wrote to him: “It is hard to believe that only a year and a half has passed since the start of the war. Three windows out of five display the flags to show someone in the service and I have seen a few gold stars, too. Ration books, red points, and V-mail are part of our lives. There is not much complaining. There is more comradeship, if anything, as a result of the sacrifices we are making—and little enough, most of us find ourselves adding. There is absolutely no doubt in our minds that we are going to win this war. We are working like hell in the plant and it is like that day and night everywhere in town. It makes me want to cry and I have cried—you and Billy are not alone. You aren’t, and we want you to know it. Our love goes out to you.

“P.S. I am rolling my cigarettes on a little machine. What do you think of that?”

“We went into action today,” he wrote. “I am safe and sound. The mission was as escort to our big friends—the bombers—and that’s about all I can tell you. We were attacked by a pack of Messerschmitts, so I have had a taste of combat. I have never seen such a confusing mess in my life. No one could have a clear picture of what happened. I got on the tail of one, shot at him and maybe hit him, but he shook me off as easily as a man shrugs a fly off his neck. One got on me, but Billy chased him. It was over as fast as it began, but I had my eyes open—I mean this, Karen, or I would not have written any of it—and I think I have the hang of it. Billy feels the same way. We won’t have trouble again.”

The next time she read of his combat experience was the next Wednesday morning. On the front page of the Port Smith Herald the headline of a small, boxed item near the bottom of column eight read: “P.S.P.D. HERO GUNS DOWN THREE NAZI PLANES.”