Morning breaks, and the smell of fresh hot coffee brings the day to a start.
There is already a rustling of activity throughout the camp, as this day is "the" day. Rumors of the mission and it's inevitable outcome have been bantered about to any number of conclusions, but rumors are just that, mearly speculation and exageration. There is one way to know the outcome, and that is to survive the assault.
The coffee was good this morning, but either the staleness of last nights rum has left the tastebuds lacking, or simply that with what we face today, everything else just pales. I'll blame the rum, I don't want to think to hard about the importance of today. Best to just go have breakfast and figure out if Tbolt found his way back from the sheepspen at a reasonable hour.
Walking the grounds, I see the others. I don't know what it is about the veterans, but you can tell from any distance, their coffee is a bit off today as well.
There's a group of new recruits going over drills with the instructor. They are eager, and willing. The excitement overflows as they drool over the B-17s being loaded with enough ordanance to take out a large island. They steal glances and huddle, point and salute as I walk by, and I offer a look that says look to your planes, ignore me, for now.
It's too early to command a wing. Not yet, plenty of time for that later, while half of those faces are spread across the floor of these planes. There will be plenty of time in the air, trying to get home, to look to those faces and say now, pay attention if you want to live, this isn't pretty paint and chrome anymore, this is bloody, and it's hard, and you want to survive this.
Over breakfast, I see Tbolt. His hair is standing up in the back, I'll call it a cowlick, but I know where he's been, so let's just stick to messed up. He is grinning from ear to ear, but you can tell by his bloodshot eyes that he is paying dearly for that grin.
"Good morning Roc" he says, wincing, "Man alive, I met Betties cousin Bertha"
That's all he had to say, we all meet Bertha at one point or another. I just chuckled, and said "Man, I hope you get cleaned up before we launch, I'm worried about the vapor flowing off you igniting the whole squadron."
"Don't make me laugh this early," he grimmaced, "You've been there, it hurts like heaven lol"
We had breakfast, lightly discussed the day ahead of us, knowing we didn't need to discuss it much. We will get our orders, and with luck, half the fighter pilots will be released from lockup and be able to escort us. Word from the hill is, we have to go, with or without, this target needs to go away.
Orders like that make it hard to enjoy the scrambled powerdered eggs, knowing full well, if it is that important the target goes away, there will be plenty of reasons over that target to keep it there. The day just get's better and better.
"OH!" Tbolt cries out, "I forgot, met a guy who is just assigned to the wing, brace yourself, lol, I don't know that he is aware of where he is."
This worries me, Tbolt normally comes clean with important stuff, unless he really thinks I'll enjoy the surpise, which I rarely do.
"Here he comes now"
"Hi Fellas!!" Comes an excuberant cry from across the mess.
"Good morning ASW" says Tbolt, "This here is ROC, the Group Leader for Broadways Flight 1.
"Then it's Twue??" dwaddles ASW? "I have twuely been assigned to the Bwoadway Twoupe? and the First Flight?? Owww Thank Ewe!!!"
Tbolt snickers, and I know, that the day is going down hill from here.
"I made it!" ASW cries with glee "I'm gowing to be a STHAR!!!! I made it to BWOADWAY and I'm gonna Sing and Dance oh JOY of JOYS"
"ASW," I say calmly, "Walk with me boy, we need to talk."
As I begin to walk ASW to the B17s, I glance over my shoulder to Tbolt, who is laughing uncontrollably. "Laugh T," I say with a grin "You and I are talking next my friend."
With that, I take ASW and we walk, and talk, and I know, this is going to be the longest day of my life.
(to be continued)
