A Pilots War

A Pilots War

We sit in a small room playing cards, reading a well thumbed book or pondering fruitlessly over a crossword puzzle, each with our own mixed emotions

A ringing phone shattering the silence, we all run to our planes – scramble is the fancy name

A synchronised dance of men in flying suits

Chairs fall to the floor as we leave, card games half finished, drinks left untouched

Some names on the board never to be seen again

They count us out with cheers of good luck and see you soon

We are up and away in minutes

No time to waste

Like tiny ants we march across the sky

For some this will be their very last outing

Its all down to the roll of the dice, no one is beyond death

Alone in our cockpits we don’t have time to think just to react

Cold and isolated the cockpit of a Spitfire or Hurricane feels like a lonely home

Guns fire lighting up the night sky – it’s a strategic game of cat and mouse

Hunt or be hunted

We throw our planes this way and that, diving away from falling debris, all the time praying we are not hit

Sometimes you get separated from the crowd

A blanket of darkness washes over you, disorientates you until you go mad with fear

Concentration is vital, watch the dials or face certain death

It’s what we have trained for, our destiny

For some the training is so brief it’s a wonder they get off of the ground at all

Brave men risking everything for their country, serving the men and women left behind

The cruelty of war is all around – crashed planes, burnt out with no chance of escape, buildings reduced to piles of smouldering rubble

Innocent men, women and children displaced, grieving loved ones, praying for a swift end to the endless bombing

The fear of what else is to come grips the nation

As countries capitulate we fight on with our heads held high

Adrenaline kicks in and we act like robots, automatic responses drilled into our minds

We aren’t special; we aren’t heroes’ just ordinary folk doing a job that needs to be done

For many to fly a plane was just a distant boyhood dream now here we are up in the sky

Defending our country for all it is worth

We go up at all times of the day or night, always praying for good weather conditions

Fighting the enemy is one thing to have to fight the weather as well is a frustrating hazard we could well do without

Our lives are expendable it is the bigger picture that matters

We do not serve to get medals, to get recognition, to get our photos in the paper

We do not crave adulation from the wider public – how can you celebrate killing a fellow human being for that is what we have done?

Our greatest goal is to live, to see our families again, our children

To watch them grow up in a country they are proud to call home

Many of us are barely men at all; we haven’t tasted but a tiny drip of life

We haven’t proposed marriage to a girl, bought our own house – all that is but a dream waiting to come true

Our friends and colleagues die, picked off one by one

Some only last a day, hours even

A lost plane, brutal injuries that result in death, burns that scar a mans body for life

Men who parachute out of a dying plane only to be shot at and killed by the enemy

Some parachute too late and crash land into the world below, others drown when they are forced to bale out over the sea

We look for our missing men when time allows but often there is no trace, it is as if the earth has swallowed them whole, taken them some place where no further harm can come to them

Names written on a chalk board so easily rubbed out, replaced and rubbed out again

We cannot allow ourselves to grieve or we would never get out of bed

So many have gone leaving behind broken families and heartbroken friends

A new name, a new fresh face replaces them eager to do their bit for the cause

They cannot replace the men we have lost no matter how many jokes we share with them, no matter how many tales we tell them

We come back in to land battered and bruised – mentally as well as physically exhausted

A few are missing; some we saw meet their maker others vanished into the night sky never to be heard of again

The men on the ground patch up our wounded planes as best they can – working miracles all hours of the day and night, maybe they are the silent heroes of this merciless war?

We count up our achievements, say a silent prayer for those lost and head off for a stiff drink or a well earned sleep

Many sleep fitfully as nightmares creep in

In a few hours maybe less we will be doing this all again, the bombardment is endless as is our urge to win

We are but a few, an army of men pulled from every corner of the globe fighting with everything we have to obliterate an unwelcome foe

We cannot dwell on our achievements as for every enemy plane shot down a man has most probably died or at least been wounded

He is a man with family and friends just like us, just like us he is doing a job

One day roles into another, then another – the faces change but the objective always remains the same