It's Fly or Die, and Some Die Anyway

[Guest guest]

We were coming into our Sourthern California base. A

bunch of us in formation, proud, glad to have made it

all the way.

 

Six of us buddies started out on this one in this

group. Three of us were left. I was thinking, as

usual, about how their families were going to be told,

how they were going to have to be found, and told, and

about their feelings, and all of that.

 

It was a cold day for Southern California, but we were

glad to be there, at last.

 

As you glide in low, for some reason, although you're

almost home, almost there, far away from the gunshots

and all of that, for some reason, that's when it

always comes back to me.

 

Hank, Bob, and Po, my buddies, gone. I can't stop my

mind, boom, wing off, oh my god, Po, no no no, and I

see him going down, spinning, with only one wing left.

I see them coming to get him even. My mind goes numb.

What will they do with him. We always wonder, but stop

ourselves. It's better not to think about it. It's

better to focus on your own flying, and get the hell

out of there.

 

We all know the name of the game... it's fly or die.

That's right. If we don't fly, we die, because the

dangerous elements always come, like on a regular

basis, so we know, it's either fly or die. We train

the best we can, we try to maneuver as best we know

whenever we encounter the enemie or incoming, tripple

A you know... we train, we're ready, but we always

lose some anyway. While flying, some of us are shot

down by the enemy. It's inevitable. We know it's fly

or die, but it's so strange, some of us die anyway.

 

I remember Hank suddenly, three huge booms, and I

looked around to see if anyone was hit, and I could

just see his engine was dead, his wings were screwed

up and falling off kindoff, and he was dropping like a

terd from a tall Indian.

 

And Bob, they blew his head off. I saw it myself, he

was my wingman. Right off to my right side, flying

level in altitude with me, within my eyesight, we were

so close, we could easily wave at each other, and

boom, suddenly his head was gone, and he dropped. It's

awful.

 

We know it's fly or die, but some of us die anyway.

 

Then I hit, bomb bomb bomb, you kindof come down in

stages, dropping on in to the safety of the base. Once

you shake off the long flight, you start to look

around and see whos there. Gradually I usually find

them. This time it was Betsy, Grace and Charlotte.

 

We three remaining were there with them and told them

about each one, and how brave they were and so on.

 

These Geese woman are raised to know that this can

happen. They took it well, but it always hurts.

 

At night, as the others slept, I looked up and saw one

of the enemies fake birds going overhead. Like the

rest, I then drifted off to sleep, knowing there was

nothing we could do about it.

 

 

--

 

 

Das Goravani , President

 

2852 Willamette St, #353

Eugene, Oregon, 97405

USA

 

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