Breath in, breath out. Easier said than done when flying through a sky filled with flak and bombs. The uneasy rumbling of his Wellington took an immediate backseat to the hail of bullets he was blindly flying towards. “Aim for the lights” they told him.

The reality of war became just a bit more real when a neighboring aircraft had an engine explode, spiralling the fuselage to the mysterious surface amongst all the thousands of lights. Shrapnel pierced the exterior. If it was gonna blow it was gonna blow, no need to worry about what you can’t control. Not anymore.

19 years old, sweating, shaking, squinting through foggy goggles, reading instruments, making decisions, bombing factories, thinking about his high school sweetheart, bombing houses, watching friends burn up in fireballs, murmuring a half-thought prayer, dying for his country.

Quick and painless was all he asked for.

My uncle Jeff fought and died in a war 66 years ago.
This could have been me, this could have been you.

Lest We Forget.