The Man Called Brown Condor by Thomas E. Simmons

we work our way forward. On the takeoff roll, as we gain speed, you push the stick a little forward to lift the tail. Stay off the brakes! Once the tail comes up you can see straight ahead over the nose. The same holds true for landing. Once you flare for landing, you won’t be able to see a thing ahead. You’ll have to use your peripheral vision to keep the plane rolling straight with rudder until it has slowed enough to taxi ‘S’ turns safely.” Snyder’s voice sounded funny coming through the Gosport tube as he continued to shout commands
    Snyder let John try his hand at taxiing. The voice again, “Even out your ‘S’ turns, Robinson! You’re all over the place!” Jack Snyder took back the controls. At the far end of the field he turned the plane completely around to check the sky for landing traffic. Satisfied, Snyder turned the plane upwind. “Stay lightly on the controls during the takeoff, get the feel of them,” the Gosport voice ordered. Snyder advanced the throttle. The plane had hardly lifted into the air when John felt the stick shake. The voice from the little tube, shouting over the engine and wind noise, commanded, “You have the airplane. Climb to four hundred feet and turn to the left ninety degrees. Then climb to eight hundred feet and turn forty-five degrees to the right and climb straight ahead to thirty-five hundred feet. Don’t let the nose get above the horizon and keep an eye out for other planes!”
    John put his left hand on the throttle, his right on the stick, his feet on the rudder petals, and began a timid turn to the left.
    â€œUse your rudder, damnit!” shouted the voice in his ears. “Watch the nose! You’re letting it drop.” A moment later, “Now the nose is too high.”
    Each comment was followed by an unmistakable firm corrective movement of the controls momentarily over-riding John’s stiff, clumsy attempts to perform the maneuvers. After a period of too much up followed by too much down, John began to settle the plane into a more or less steady climb.
    â€œRobinson,” the little voice returned. “Don’t you think we could stop climbing now? We’re at four thousand feet. I told you to level off at thirty-five hundred feet. Ease off that throttle and get back down to thirty-five hundred.” There was a pause, then, “Don’t dive it, damnit!” It was followed by, “Now you’re climbing again. Get this thing in a glide and hold it with a steady airspeed! Show me you know the difference between a glide and a dive.”
    With much effort at changing altitude while watching for traffic and checking the altimeter and airspeed every few seconds, John found himself proudly flying straight and level at thirty-five hundred feet. The feeling was short-lived.
    The commands came fast and often. “Turn to the right. Rudder, damnit! Use the rudder! You have to use the rudder and the stick together. Now turn left. Watch the nose! Use the stick! Get this thing back to level! Look at your airspeed, for Christ’s sake! You’re supposed to be at thirty-five hundred feet, so get the hell back up there!”
    John was sweating and doing his own share of swearing, more at himself than at the voice that constantly assaulted his ears over the roar of the engine.
    â€œAll right, Robinson, let’s try a few stalls. You studied about stalls in the book? Too little airspeed and/or too great an angle of attack and the wings stall. Remember? You now have the opportunity to study them up close.” Johnny felt the stick move back. The plane changed from level flight to a nose-high attitude. “Okay, you take it and hold it there.” The stick wiggled. John grasped it and put his feet back on the rudder pedals. “When you feel the plane buffet and the nose begin to drop, remember to move the stick forward, get the nose down, add power, and get the wings flying