I Died in the Sky

 

I Died in the Sky

 

         In 1936 I was nothing but an experiment. My designers had good intentions, but so do most parents when they have children. They think they know everything there is to know until that day of delivery comes. There is joyous backslapping, congratulations extolled out, cigars and champagne for all. And then reality sets in; the growing pains are exactly that, painful. This doesn’t’ work. That’s not a good fit. Too many leaks. Too many changes. Too many damn problems. But those who conceived me wouldn’t be swayed. They diligently nursed and fussed over me. A tweak there and tweak here. Slowly but surely, I began growing and maturing. At anytime they could have thrown in the towel in utter frustration, but that wasn’t in their make-up. Failure was not an option for so much they couldn’t see would ride on my future growth.

 

         Unlike most infants, I would have to grow up fast and hearty for my service was going to be called upon long before I was ready.

 

         I could not have asked for better care takers. These people I didn’t know treated me with kid gloves on a daily basis. We became a close-knit family even when then cussed me out for things I had done wrong and things I hadn’t. Yet at the end of a tumultuous and torturous day, no matter how trying or cranky I acted, they would wash me down, make sure everything was working and gently put me in my berth, smile and then retire for the night.

 

         I cannot tell you how loving these people were to me. Every day they greeted me with a smile, a smoke and a hot cup of Joe. Those who toiled and watched over me at night treated me as one of their own. I was never alone and felt so loved and cared for. This was my family and I would do everything in my power not to let them down or shame them with a poor performance. I looked forward to the day I would be able to return the kindness they showered me with. I wouldn’t have to wait long.

 

         December 7^th 1941 would be my wake-up call. While I was still young and naïve, it was time to grow up and live up to the expectations they expected of me. It was time to join the ranks who were answering the call by the hundreds of thousands. It was time to prove my worth and readiness and repay those men who had given me life. It was time to take the skies and earn my keep.

 

         My name was not important up until now. Only a select few needed to know. Now it was time for me to be introduced to the world. My names were B-17, B-24, B-25, B-26 and B-29. Like my caretakers, we would be a family sworn to uphold liberty and justice. We would bond together and become the wards or our caretakers. It was time to show these brave men and women, we would carry them into battle and bring everyone of them home safely. It was our time to shine!

 

         I couldn’t have been more wrong or naïve. I would die in the sky.

        

         I went into mass production for there was a war to be won. No longer could they build me by hand one at a time, they had to figure out how to produce me in the hundreds overnight. As in my creation, the growing pains were unfathomable as those who worked on me had not a clue what they were doing. Mistakes were common place in the early days. Not enough parts, tools or components to keep up with the pace. Many of the workers had never seen a such a child as I, much less worked on one. I had to trust those who developed me to lead the way and iron out the problems. In time they did, but without loss. My youngest sibling, 29, would be the mostly costly and deadly of us. She was ahead of her time in design, range and payload. Too many of my precious souls would pay the ultimate price for getting her battle worthy and in the skies and even then, she was known to fail with a full load of fuel and bombs. But I’ve gotten ahead of myself.

 

         Dozens of homes popped up across the country for me and my countrymen. All those hours of meticulous training and care I took for granted, were now making sense. I was a machine of war and it is my responsibility to look after these brave souls.

 

         Women would ferry me across this great land to weigh stations where the men would take over and fly me into the combat zones. At the time I didn’t understand why they couldn’t take me all the way, but it wasn’t an issue for me to question. I was very confused when I found out they didn’t have the same benefits as the men, but again, it wasn’t my place to contest. They handled me with the same, if not more loving care, as the men, so I did my best to repay their kind affections.  

 

         I learned names even the history books hadn’t addressed: Troston, Hitcham, Abbots-Ripton, Neaton, Eye, Metfield, Iwo, Tinian and dozens more. These were my new homes. This is where I would bring my children back when the day was done. Little did I know the cost we would suffer.

 

         I would learn new names I wish to hell I could forget: Regensburg, Schweinfurt, Berlin, Cologne, Hamburg, Ploesti, Naples, Dresden, Caen, Frankfort, Kiel, Tokyo, Yokohama, Hiroshima and Nagasaki. While the names are different, the outcome was not.

 

         While each mission was meticulously mapped out and prepared for optimum damage, I still had to get them there and back in one piece. Even though I thought I was prepared for the worse, I could not have been more wrong.

 

         It took hundred of hours to build me and my brethren and countless, unnamed hours to maintain us. Yet, in the blink of an eye all that care would evaporate in a blinding flash! I thought I was built solid enough to take it. I thought I was ringed with enough protection to ward off any dumb enough to get in range of my bristling armaments. I thought I was indestructible. I thought wrong.

 

         The more missions I flew, the more vulnerable I felt. Despite being surrounded by sisters and brothers, I could never shake the feeling I was always being singled out. My caretakers never spoke of it, but I could feel it in my controls. Their sweet would freeze on their faces and controls as we neared a target. The chatter that was gay and jolly before take-off became serious and sober. I could feel the tension of each person as they were caught up in their own secret thoughts of mortality and the future. And then all hell would break loose.

 

         “Bogies at twelve, six, nine and three o’clock!” They descended on us like locust, intent on clearing us from the skies. I shuddered and rocked as bullets poured forth from my guns searching for the enemy. More than not, they missed. No matter how valiantly they fought back they couldn’t keep them off. Instead of keeping my eyes straight, I would glance side-to-side to check on my flock. I should have kept looking forward. One by one, I watched as wings and engines fell off, fuselages were ripped in half and stabilizers disappeared. Elevators were riddled with holes. Liquid streamed and sprayed from ruptured lines. Nose sections exploded in flames. It was too much! Men screamed and cried over the radio as their bodies were holed and burned. I watched in horror as plane after plane fell from the sky. Some flipped over and went straight down. Others kept battling the odds even when engines were flaming uncontrollably and slowly dropping out of formation. I would watch and count to see how many chutes would billow. One, two, three. “Oh, no. God no! His chute is on fire! He’s not wearing one!” Oh, how I wished I could turn back to the safe confines of my new home, but that wasn’t an option. We had to keep pushing forward and grieve for the fallen when the mission is over.  

 

         I took a deep breath when I heard the call, “They’re pulling out.” It was time for a breather. It would be short lived. Ahead of us I saw little black puffs of smoke starting to fill the sky. Flak! This was a foe we could not see much less defend ourselves from. We cold only keep pushing forward through the steel curtain that began filling the sky. It is the most hopeless feeling in the world. As much as we wanted fly under it, over it, or around it, we could only fly through it. I rocked, yawed, jumped and bumped through the maelstrom. I dared not look to the left or right for I might be the one who takes a shell. I had to concentrate and keep pushing through. I hoped I wouldn’t hear the calls, but they came. “There goes “Lucky Lady.” “Rosie” is on fire and falling back. “Little Ghost” just disappeared. “Georgia Peach” lost a wing and spiraling down. Another forty have left our ranks.

        

         We plod on to the target grinding and clawing through the cold air and our destiny We must stay in formation or what is left of it. “Target one mile ahead. Navigator, take over.” What beautiful words. What resounding words. In a few more moments we will be able to drop our load and then break and run for home. I jump up with the words, “Bombs away.” We bank hard right and start the long journey home but at least we’ll be a bit faster on the return trip.

 

         Again, we are forced to take on flak only this time we can maneuver freely and change altitudes to keep the gunners guessing. This time we’re lucky with no losses. But the wolves are still waiting and they are more interested in damaged ships for they are easy prey. While we take in a deep breath of soothing, crisp air, we hear the cries from the stragglers as one by one they fall to their doom. I cannot go back to help them. I cannot provide kind words or crack a joke. I can only pray for them and be thankful it wasn’t our time.

 

         We touchdown on our home turf and the tension in my skin lets out a large, deep, sigh of relief.       We made it. Being the first one back, we pile into a jeep and are driven to the briefing hut. But before we report on the mission, we stand with our commander and start counting planes. “One, two, three, four” and then a long pause. The commander is checking off those that are arriving, “Ten, Eleven, Twelve.” Another long pause. “Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.” “Sir, red flares from number fifteen.” “Notify emergency crews to be ready.” Red flares mean there are wounded on the plane. The closer she comes the more pronounced her damage comes into focus. Multiple holes in the fuselage, two engines were feathered and she was yawing to the left with only one wheel down. It would be a tricky landing at best. It would take all the pilot’s skills to bring her home safely. The wheel touched down and collapsed under the weight. She was belly sliding across the runway; sparks showered behind her in a brilliant light show. She hit a berm and spun about then came to a rest. Emergency vehicles swarmed towards her to tend to the wounded. It wouldn’t matter. They were fifty yards out when she exploded, igniting the remaining fuel in her tanks. There was nothing we could do-nothing!

 

         The count resumed, “Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen,” then nothing. We waited for over an hour, all of us. After an hour, they silently shuffled off to eat, smoke, vomit, cry and then debrief. Six would not return. Another sixty fathers, brothers and sons lost. I shuddered with the loss of so many, but there would be more in the coming weeks, months and years.

 

         Slowly, my men came to me and starting assessing my wounds. This time is wasn’t bad. A dozen bullet holes, a jammed turret, minor flak damage to the ailerons and stabilizer. Easy peasy they would half-jokingly say as they went to work patching me up.      

 

         Seventy plus years later, I am still able to hold my nose high in the sky as my caretakers have brought me back to life with the same tender-care they showered on me so long ago. I thrill with the throbbing of my mighty engines as they cut through layer after layer of air, hurtling us higher into the heavens. The rush is unbelievable and then it stops. We have reached cruising altitude and peace. I look side to side and see nothing but a blue, cloudless expanse and then it begins as it always does. I see black dots exploding, the radio comes alive with calls for help. I watch my brothers and sisters explode around me and fall. I hear the cries for moms, dads and loved ones as they spin out of sight or disappear in a violent explosion. I cringe with the calling of bogies swarming over us. I jolt with pain as pieces of me are torn off with the impact of bullets and shells. I feel a warm liquid covering my once clean floor. I try and block out the cries of, “I’m hit. I’m hit. Oh, God, I’m hit. Don’t let me die. Don’t let me die!” And then it’s gone and the serenity surrounding me returns. I take a breath and pay the only tribute I can by flying true, and straight as the faces I will never see again flow through me. It is for them I fly. It is for them I will honor. It is for them; I will fly with pride as I remember them. It is for them.   

        

         Over one hundred and twenty-five thousand would serve us and care for us. Of these brave selfless souls, over fifty-seven thousand would die, eight-four hundred wounded and ninety-eight hundred captured. I will never forget you and will always honor your memories.

 

         Yes. Even though I am proud to fly today and honor those of my past, believe me when I say, I died in the sky.     

 

Copyright 2020 @ LDDJ Enterprise Publishing

Jeff Dawson

Character Development

Donald Trump Shut the Hell up!

Donnie, Donnie, Donnie. Shut the hell up! For God's sake, shut up. Obviously, you talked with the Joint-Chiefs to get an understanding on what happened in Beirut today. but you do not need to stoke the fire in the Middle East. What you and generals discussed should have stayed in that room until more factual details are known. This is nothing but poor speculation and provides the media with more ammunition they don't need. The MSM is glossing over the part where you mention the generals and are focusing on you saying, "It was an attack." So what can they do with this? I'll tell ya. I received several messages today with the Headline, "Israel Bombs Beirut." You are aware there are a lot of people in the USA who don't support Israel at all. This is more fodder for their cannons. So,for the love of GOD, shut the hell up! If not, get your bags packed because your opening the door for Joe.

Oh Say Can You see

 Oh, Say Can You See

 

        Oh, say can you see. Francis Scott Key had no idea how prophetic those words were when he penned them as the British shelled Fort McHenry.

 

        Oh, and what she has seen!

 

        As an infant, finding my way, I tripped, stumbled and fell a few times but got back up. I was vilified and heckled by the crown who swore to bring me down. Betsy would have none of it and gave me life. She gave me a foundation unlike any other nation. She meticulously sewed thirteen strips of cloth and thirteen stars on a vivid backdrop of blue. She chose the colors carefully: red hardiness and valor, white, purity and innocence and blue for vigilance, perseverance and justice.

 

        George and his men held me high even when the odds were stacked against him. I bled at Lexington and Bunker Hill. I froze at Valley Forge to raise flagging spirits. I proudly crossed the Delaware River. Many said I’d drown. I didn’t. I stood tall at Yorktown as a victor.

 

        Even though we claimed victory, my countrymen became petulant and obnoxious. They denounced the President and claimed he was a king. I wept as they squabbled to find their way.

 

        I smiled as peace was on the horizon, but storms were gathering on other frontiers. France and Spain still wanted their fair share.  France needed money; Spain, territory and Texas.

 

 

        I was tested again in 1812 when the Union Jack wanted one more crack. I cried as the White House burned to the ground; but didn’t bow. My countrymen united and once again repelled the invaders.

 

        Oh say, can you see?

 

        Once again I took a breath and added more stars. My country was growing and stabilizing, but it wouldn’t last. My Southerners hung on to chattel slavery. The tribal Indians stood in the way of expansion. Spain was running out of steam and its grip on Mexico and the Southwest. I knew nothing good would come of it; I could only watch, and wait.

 

        Once again, my colors came under fire on April 12^th, 1861 from the Stars and Bars. I tried to talk reason to my brethren to no avail. I shed a thousand tears as 600,000 paid the ultimate price for freedom, liberty and justice. When the smoke cleared, all I could see was a scarred landscape and decimated populace. My colors were soaked with the blood of my brothers and sisters. I worried the country was open for invasion from foreign powers. Would we be able to mend the ills and wrongs of the past?

 

        Oh, say, can you see?

 

        Like any proud mother, I loved and cherished my children, yet, doesn’t mean I approved of all of their decisions. The eviction and moving of the indigenous people saddened me. They were here long before we came to the New World. I believed they could have lived in harmony; I was wrong.  

 

       

        I stood strong as my country grew and more stars adorned my field. I watched with great interest as the country grew and expanded westward, filling me with pride.

 

        I was amazed at the industrial might the country was turning into. A once agrarian land was becoming a beacon of industrial revolution. I did not approve of children being forced to work, but hoped they would identify the error of their ways and correct it in time.

 

        I was called again to a land I never dreamed of helping. I didn’t worry about past differences; I answered the call to make sure my distant countrymen and their allies prevailed. I bled more at Argonne, Bella Wood and Flanders. My children fought bravely and valiantly protecting those who needed the help.

 

        I shed more tears while my colors were held high and true.

 

        Perhaps now I can rest and enjoy the fruits of my labor.

 

        O, say, can you see?

 

        Prosperity exploded. My country grew. I swelled with pride. Instead of getting a breather, my county collapsed overnight. It was a war no one saw coming. It threw my contrymen into turmoil, despair and poverty. Instead of bullets and bombs claiming lives, it was bad finances, drought and dust that brought them down. I watched as fortunes vanished, suicides increased, families were displaced and pestilence filled the land. I questioned if they were strong enough to withstand the onslaught of an unknown future. I swung in the wind limply looking for direction.

 

        My answer came with a catastrophic event many knew was coming but few were prepared. I frantically waved a warning as a swarm of planes. Displaying the Rising Sun, descended on Pearl Harbor. While my warning was too late, the response was phenomenal. The surprise attack awakened a passion and determination I thought was long lost. They became angry, united and filled with an uncontrollable vengeance. United, we learned the names of Coral sea, Midway, Kasserine Pass, Palermo, Messina, Normandy, Bastogne, Arnhem, Peleliu, Tarawa, Iwo Jima, and Okinawa. I was filled with holes, disappeared beneath the waves drowned in wells, fell from the heavens and trampled by treads. But I did not yield. I stood tall in the face of tyranny and crushed the oppressors bent on world domination. The victory was short lived. I would learn new names, Pusan, Seoul, Wusan, Inchon and Chosin. Again, my people died for those who couldn’t defend themselves. I took a breather hoping this would be the last one.

 

        I hoped the country would get a reprieve and heal. It did not happen. A new threat emerged bearing a hammer and sickle. I braced for the worse. The thought of nuclear annihilation was a real threat. I feared my children would become irrational. They didn’t. I took a deep sigh of relief as cooler, wiser heads prevailed and we all didn’t vaporize into a cloud of dust.

 

        Oh, say, can you see?

 

        In ten years, I would once again find myself in a strange country and customs I didn’t understand. I couldn’t say no when the call came and my children answered the call. I questioned the reasons and the plan. I could only hope my children would make wise decisions and not soak me in blood again. I was wrong as tens of thousands of my most cherished ones, the young, died on fields and jungles even I didn’t know: Tonkin Bay, IA Drang, Saigon, Kaison and Hanoi. This was different. In the past I watched my children band together and make a stand for righteousness. Yet, while they bled in the jungles, those back home rose up against me demanding change. They burned me, cursed me, ripped me, threw away medals and denounced all I stood for. How could this happen? What had I done to deserve such animosity? There was also the unrest for a forgotten people. They help build the country with the sweat of their brows. They were sold and traded like livestock. I knew the day would come when they would gain a voice and be counted. That day had come. I knew not which way to look. Never had I seen my country involved in three conflicts at the same time. What could I do? Pray, that wiser heads would prevail and heal a fractured country, again.

        I cried when my children returned home from a war too many had turned against. Instead of welcoming them with my flowing colors, they were spit on and condemned for protecting me. It was one of my darkest days. The rift was giant and only inflamed when corruption poured forth from the government. How could they be so stupid? I could only watch and weep in disbelief and ask, “Where did I go wrong?’

 

        It would be decades before I flew proudly again.

 

        The call for help came from the Middle East, another place I was familiar with only in name. My children rallied to the cause and defeated the foe in record time. My banner flew high and filled the country with pride and worth. Again, it wouldn’t last. In ten years, I would realize the horrors of war I hadn’t seen in sixty years. Again, the enemy came from the skies using our own planes in an effort to bring us to our knees. The result was just the opposite. As in 1941, my children were filled with a terrible resolve and took the fight where the enemy lived. I hailed the initial results. “These are my children at their best.” And then it changed as leaders muddled and squabbled over issues of non-consequence. Were they going to repeat the same mistakes only a short forty years ago? I could not bear watching my youth perish in a forgotten war, again! It would be too much. Somehow, the lessons of the past were learned and my children stayed united and welcomed home their heroes and loved ones.

 

        I prayed my children could finally come together again and work for the greater good. I was wrong. May 25^th, 2020 would rock my country more dramatically than 7-4-1776, 6-18-1812, 12-7-1941 and 9-11-2001. At first, I saw a just cause and demanded those involved be prosecuted. It was a righteous cause. In the blink of an eye, it all changed. This wasn’t the protests for Civil Rights or the removal of troops from a foreign country. This was war on my own soil and not a shot had been fired. I watched in horror as my cities were ransacked and burned. Hundreds were injured, scores were killed. Local governments were not immune; the violence came to them at their homes. Law and order collapsed, or were ordered to stand down. It was the one time I wished I could take a human form and ask, “What in the hell are you all doing? We have fought ten major wars and countless small ones. We have vanquished tyranny when it raised its ugly head. We have overcome civil strife, a pandemic, and a depression. We have learned how to compromise and move forward. It hasn’t always been easy but we continued to persevere through it all. Together, we’ve stumbled, fallen, been knocked down, attacked, slandered, hated, ridiculed, but still, we found a way to stand as one. Today, in my short two hundred and forty-four years, I find myself questioning the ability and temerity of our ability to heal. Never has the divide been so great. Never has so much anger been thrust upon my streets with unequivocal violence and rage Until today, I never questioned our ability to unite and come together. Never did I lose hope in our goal and mission as a beacon of truth and hope for those to admire, until today. It is up to you and only you to address the issues at hand and like your forefathers, who were faced with similar problems, it is time to end the divisiveness that is plaguing my landscape, from sea to shining sea. The chants of we’re right and you’re wrong are fruitless at best. It is difficult to hear when everyone is yelling and no one is listening. It is time to stop being children and become adults. I have been patient and understanding in my short existence. My colors are soaked with the blood of over one point three million lives. I have wept for the one point four million who returned, burned, broken and battered. Tell me, honestly, it wasn’t all in vain. Tell me, that the widows, widowers spouses cried for nothing. Tell me that the fatherless and motherless children who stare at the flag, that covered their casket, wasn’t for a worthy cause. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me there is hope. Tell me you will work this out without tearing each other apart. Please, tell me, all the sacrifices weren’t in vain. Please, tell me.”

 

OH, SAY, CAN YOU SEE?   

Copyright@2020by: LDDJ Enterprises Publishing.

Cancer caregiving

Congressional Hatchet Hearing of Bill Barr 7-28-2020

Stay with me on this one people. Trust me, it's worth getting to the end. Today I saw the post from James Ackerman, detailing his father-in-law, Dr. Alden Roberts, experience in Portland on July 22nd. Dr. Roberts is a highly respected medical practitioner from Vancouver, Washington. He gives seven items of what he saw and didn't see. At the end of the article, this pops up. Hard to say who added, but I'm guessing it was Ackerman.“This should concern, if not terrify, all of us. This is an unidentified and unaccountable federal police presence attacking American citizens who are not violating any federal laws. This is literally how the "secret police" in other authoritarian regimes began. The comparison to the early stages of Nazi Germany is NOT AN EXAGGERATION anymore. Silence is complacency. Please share this post. Please spread this information. Please get involved. Do not allow or condone this conduct by our federal government. I don't care which political party you support, this is an affront to the U.S. Constitution and the founding principals of our nation." I love he comparison of Federal troops protecting the Federal court house to Nazi Germany. Now, for submission, here is a clip from 1944, Roland Freisler, the judge in the Third Reich. Tell me if you see a comparison to then and today's hearing. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fgpbq2hd0yY

Time to unite