And oh, the unforgettable strong smells of death and dying. The dreadful sound of the beeper as it spells out the fearful word that one of us has fallen. We do remember the barracks days, days and times in our hootches. Our cots and bunks in some mildewed hut far away. Do not fear.
Day is done.
And so clearly today with our memory s ear, we hear again those hauntingly sad notes, as taps sang that unforgettable song of sadness over your flag-draped coffins or by your gravesites. We remember the flying days. The bobbing, bounding feel as the airplane lopes into takeoff speed. The musing, the pondering, even thoughts of home as we drone toward the battle. The undertowing knowledge of the deadly nature of our work.