The first real test of my break from the religion of my childhood occurred on a flight from Guam back to Vietnam, when I was a 25-year-old U.S. Army captain. An explosion rocked the overloaded jetliner minutes after takeoff—a rumble so violent, one of the stewardesses dropped her tray and dashed through the aisle up front. Nervously, the pilot announced the plane had blown an engine, and quickly he began steering low over the Pacific to dump fuel. … Back to Article
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