Remembrance Day

Yes, I know, I am at it again. Seems when I write, it comes in bunches, or in this case, maybe Mom’s birthday and Remembrance Day being so close together are to blame. 

Nevertheless, if you find a minute to read, I hope you enjoy it.

Lest we forget

It’s early morning on a late November day. I find myself in the deep deciduous woods of the Catskill Mountains, a familiar setting where I learned to love stalking those wily bucks. Deer hunting remains one of my truly great pleasures, though as the years have gone by, it is far less about the venison and more about the outdoors. Finding, tracking, seeing…less shooting.

The sun is barely up and it’s cold, and I mean cold! Every leaf, bush, or piece of grass has a white frosty sheen on it. Even the odd surviving spider webs are beautiful, doily-like crystals, shimmering in the rising sun. 

It’s quiet in the woods, nothing moving yet, and the cold will keep the local furry residents slow to be out and about. Under other circumstances, quiet would be good for hunting, but the frost has made even the slightest move a cacophony of snapping twigs and crunching leaves. There will be no sneaking up on anything today! 

Despite my well-practiced Apache techniques, the best I can hope for is to startle a deer off its morning bed and then pick up a fresh track. It then becomes a game of who hears who first. I take pride in generally hunting alone, a little standing, and no driving, so the deer more often than not win, and so it should be.

After a few silence-shattering strides, I pull up to have a listen myself. After a pause, wait…I hear a similar crunching in the distance. 

I freeze…this is it, get ready. 

The noise is loud though, too loud. This is either a bunch of deer (too good to be true) or something else altogether. Well, it turns out it was something else. After only a second, I could see red moving towards me…another hunter.

Normally, I would veer off with a wave and head in another direction, but he was almost to me, and frankly I was wondering what he might have seen. He was an older gentleman, I could see as he pulled up short of me and sat down on a fallen log. Meeting like this in the woods, particularly this close, has a protocol, kind of like meeting for coffee. “Wow, it’s cold.” “Yep, have to push them to get them to move today.” “They wind you easily.” That type of banter is expected and delivered.

He asked me before I could get it out myself, “Did you see a couple deer walk through between us?” “No,” I said sheepishly. “I didn’t.” So much for my eyes and ears. 

He just smiles.

As he was showing me where he had seen them, I noticed he was wearing an Air Force hat highlighting B-17s with a 97^th Bomb Group Mighty 8^th Air Force insignia. He wore it at a bit of a tilt, almost a swagger, no doubt he was a veteran. I also noted he was hunting with a Winchester Model-12 pump. Good gun, but certainly not as common of a deer gun, like a 30/30 or a Deer Slayer. He caught me peeking at it and started explaining. 

He had been issued the Model-12 while in the service. They used it for target practice and drilling, he says, and he became proficient not only in shooting it, but also assembling and disassembling it in record times. It seems it was not the standard issue when going overseas, but he asks the captain of his group for permission, and he gets the ok to keep it. 

It strikes me as a bit arrogant but, “One shot is all I need with this,” he quips.

Now I’m hooked, I can’t help myself. I sit down on the log as well and start a volley of questions. He is happy to oblige. The wheres, the whens, the what happeneds…all readily shared. He had obviously seen a lot of action but was reticent to mention anything bloody or horrific. His recollections were more philosophic in nature, filled with adventures and oddities. 

I heard several stories, but one stuck with me. One time, after numerous difficult missions, his group was eligible for R&R. At this point he was in Foggia, Italy, and R&R was enjoyed on the island of Capri. To get to Capri, a B-17 was stripped of its guns and bomb racks and used as a transport to the island. 

When the required missions are flown, off they go, and within a short time are in the landing pattern for the small island airport. However, there is a nervous stir among the flight crew. Lots of shouting and action between the lower level and the pilots. It’s immediately obvious to the vacationing crew that they are circling the airport.

It’s the landing gear; it won’t go down. 

Hydraulic, manual, they even try bouncing the plane in the air to get it down. Nothing works.

Together, the crews eventually decide to belly land the plane. No landing gear, and oh by the way, no foamed runways or emergency gear either. The transformed B-17 flies out over the Mediterranean Sea dumping the remaining fuel, and in they come.

Here’s the oddity, the whole group is laughing and chirping like schoolboys (I guess most were schoolboys really). This is just a great adventure! No worry of death or disaster, just a roller coaster ride. 

The hunter says to me, “Can you imagine that? We were facing death every day, so nothing new about that, but can you imagine the irony of surviving mission after mission only to be killed by belly landing a B-17 while on your first leave? We couldn’t help but laugh!”

Yes, hard to imagine, but for me it’s even harder to fathom these unbelievably brave men and women getting up every day to do their job, seemly without worry, and literally having no idea whether they may be around to see the next sunrise. 

How does that even happen?

Tough decisions for me are like, how do I pay the phone bill, or should we take the dog to the vet? I don’t like my job, maybe I should change, how do I get a COVID test so I can travel? I’m sure many have more significant worries than me, but to wonder whether you’ll live or die, and then keep coming back for more each day? That’s a whole different world of worries!

It doesn’t even compute for me.

There is quiet now between us; we are both frozen. Time to get moving again. He points me in the direction he saw the deer go earlier, and with a smile, suggests I might want to bring a rifle with a scope next time.

I give him my best ’what are you talking about’ looks, and start down the path. He heads in the opposite direction at a slow deliberate pace, but after a few steps turns and says, “Hey, I’m going out a little early today, I have the Remembrance Day ceremony at the VFW, please remember to put the flags on the WW1 veteran’s headstones, including your grandfather’s like I asked, and don’t be in here after dark or your mother will give me hell.”

I turn with a smile, “Yes dad I will not forget.” Ever.

Thanks to all who serve.

Lest We Forget