s u m m e r
another wrecked bomber
You see it in their eyes. You see it in the frozen fields of England. You see it in the way they hold their hands when they smoke behind the barracks. And you see it in the wrecks they time and time again fly home to be repaired or scrapped which ever the case may be. The look of victory held behind the cold reflexes of attrition.
His buddies never knew if they'd see him again in the afternoon. After he suited up and finished the briefing he'd meet the rest of the enlisted crew and they'd spend almost and hour pre-flighting the big bird. During his tour the odds were one in four. A one in four chance of coming home each time he climbed into the belly of that plane. Each time he armed the bombs and spent those few solitary moments in the bomb bay as the plane shook to the flak outside he knew it was one in four.
He'd never known anyone that completed a tour. He'd seen fellows bail out over Germany and France, even the Channel, but he of course didn't know what happened to them after that. Maybe they lived. He'd known a few that were fished from the Channel and brought back to fly again within a few days, sometimes even the next.
To date he's lost three planes. They all made it back only to crumple at the end of the runway. To date he's seen a gunner shoot three flares out the port waist window, signaling wounded on board. His crew has been almost rotated 100 percent. Only himself and the pilot remain original, on their fourth plane.
No one has been rotated because they wanted to be. They filled gaps in other crews that came back more shot up. They got killed. They got sick. They got fatigued. Or they lost enough of themselves they couldn't be repaired like the planes. They'd never fly again and the only two ways out he'd seen were near mortal injury or death. Even the fatigued and the sick came back eventually, but not to his crew.
Some guys only made it one trip. He didn't even bother learning their names until after four or five, there just wasn't any point to it. He's only got three more missions now, then he can go home. If they send him each time to the absolute limit he's only got 35-40 more hours of flying. He'll only spend another 25 minutes in the bomb bay, breathing deeply.
If he's lucky there won't be anymore photos at the end of the runway with crewmen he doesn't know. And if he's really lucky he won't have to pretend to shoot anymore bombs while the pilot laughs at them and counts their blessings once again.
No, odds are he won't get what he wants, but if he does he'll be home shooting quail by springtime.
goodnight 4.26.99