Vicarious memories
The possibility that this most wonderful thread might slip onto Page 2 has stirred me out of the lurkerdom to which I have most properly confined myself as an earth-bound former part-time cavalryman, from a militarily neutral nation to boot.
Even if the prospect of *cough* unearthing another Danny of comparable narrative skills is slight, there must be two further sources of memories to nudge the thread back towards something approaching its original course.
One is veterans who may lack the computer skills (and/or lifelong learner determination to master them in their 90s) that would enable them to post here in their own name, but whose anecdotes could be written down and posted here on their behalf by some stripling in his 60s or less.
The second is stories told by veterans who are sadly no longer with us, but which are remembered by their families and/or friends.
I have a couple of such anecdotes to share, having heard them at first hand when the person in question was still alive. I'll post them here shortly, but am glad to share the information that I hope to have persuaded his two sons to join the forum and share their much fuller vicarious memories with us. I mentioned the thread to them when I saw both last week: one told me that he had his father's logbook, and the conversation jogged some memories for both of them.
For now, I'll just leave you with a little Dannyesque teaser, by noting that I found this thread many thousands of virtual flying hours ago with a Google search that began by entering the words "Pensacola" and "Catalina".