Three pills.
Three more and I should be okay. I'll take one of those planes as close to Sara's cottage as I can get. We'll have three days together with perfect clarity. We can stagger the pill days, too, so that it takes a while for our symptoms to really come back. Maybe take a pill every three days or so? Suffer through light levels of pain and such, then take a pill again. I guess we'll figure it out when I get there. I'll let her decide.
I've found that, now that I'm incredibly close to being with Sara after all this time, I'm more... positive? I don't have any lingering fears in my mind. I know with all my heart that she's alive and well. I know it. I feel it. It's a reality, not a suspicion. Sara is at her cottage; she is alive and she's waiting for me. I just have to make it to her. I just have to go.
Today, I was permitted to refuel one of the biplanes after its pilot returned. The pilot was a bit of a blabbermouth, which greatly benefited me. He even offered to take me on a flight some time so I can learn the ropes. That won't happen for weeks, though, and I don't have any intention of waiting that long. Sara is just across the sea. She's right there. Waiting as long as I have is killing me.
Turns out, though, that the pilot's dorm is right next to me. This could come in handy.
His name is Edgar Mensing. For my own reference.