The Veteran

Mom’s dog Ginger needed to go out.  She likes it when I arrive to see Mom, because more often than not, I take her for a walk.  Ginger, not Mom.

Ginger is a very smart little Bichon Poo.  She has Mom trained really well.  I have been unable to get her to grab her leash and bring it to me, so maybe I’m well trained as well.  After 3 furtive attempts, I took the leash from its perch on the door handle of the too-full hall closet.  Ginger ran over to offer her collared neck to me.

“We’ll be back soon,” I told Mom and headed outside with Ginger leading the way.

We soon emerged from the large complex of apartments where Mom lives.  As the door closed behind us, Ginger strained against the leash to go meet the Scotty on the end of another leash held by an elderly gentleman.

“Be good, Ginger.”  The admonition was not necessary.  The Scotty was in the same life stage as his human, and clearly not in the mood for a territorial fight.

Just then, the diamond formation of Air Force jets screeched overhead on their way back to the airport-centered airshow.  Though the humans looked aloft, the canines were unimpressed.

“Impressive!” I said.  “I always enjoy seeing the military jets in flight.”

“They’re something to see,” said the man.  “Always have been.  I saw the first one, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was German.  Painted all red.  Nobody knew what it was.  And nobody could believe how fast it passed overhead.  Not the pilots, or the officers, or anyone.  It was near the end of the war.  They didn’t make many of them, but they were something.”

“That German engineering.”

“Yeah, they were pretty good.  Our guys were pretty good too.”  In the distance, we could just make out a large plane with four-props, heading away.  The airshow must be over for the day.

“I saw a lot like that,” he continued.  I noticed that he was wearing a hat that said “Veteran,” with some letters and numbers that did not stick in my mind.  “I was in England at an airfield where the B-17s were stationed.  I saw a lot of them.  And I saw a lot more leave than come back.

“It was amazing that some of them made it back.  Some of them were so shot up that you couldn’t believe they could fly.  One time, I saw a plane come in that only had two working engines.  The other two were stopped dead.  You could see the pilot struggling to control the plane.

“There was a field next to the runway, and there had been a lot of rain, so it was all muddy.  You could see the pilot change course just before he came in, and he set it down, without landing gear, right in the muddy field.  I swear, that plane must have plowed at least 3 football fields before it came to a stop.  It left a deep groove where it slid.  But every one of those guys walked away from it.  That was the best piece of flying I ever saw.”

“Wow,” I said.  “It’s great they made it.”

“Yeah, it was.  And a few days later, they were off in another B-17.  That’s just the way it was.”  I didn’t want to know if they made it back again.  I hoped so.

The dogs had completed their tasks, and the air overhead was quiet.  Mom was going to wonder where we were.  “I’ll see you later.”

“Yep,” he said, and turned away with Scotty leading him in the opposite direction.

One of the German planes that didn't make it.
The man observing is my Grandfather, who is also in the picture above,
since there was no available shot of the Veteran I spoke with.

This is what they should always see,
regardless of the campaign.

Thanks, and Welcome Home!