“And in that narrow cockpit I wept, as I shall never weep again, when I felt the concrete brush against his wheels and, with a great sweep of the wrist, dropped him on the ground like a cut flower. As always, I carefully cleared the engine, turned off all the switches one by one, removed the straps, the wires and the tubes which tied me to him, like a child to his mother. And when my waiting pilots and my mechanics saw my downcast eyes and my shaking shoulders, they understood and returned to the dispersal in silence.” ChildrenEyeMotherFeltWaitingSilenceSawsCuttingFlowerUnderstoodShouldersFlightWheelsAviationEnginesPilotsConcreteTiedBrushesMechanicWireShakingTubesWristsTurned OffCockpit Author:Pierre Clostermann
