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
