Flying Dead - a short story

Flying Dead - 1940

Another order. Another mission. Each time Captain Barton received his orders, all of him died. The Colonel told him years back – he should consider himself as dead while on a mission. In a mysterious and sick way, it motivated him. But that didn’t make it any easier to write a dead man’s letter to his mom and dad back home. Before he wrote the letter he thought about what he’d write as he packed. Although he saved all the other letters, he wrote a new one before each mission. It was his way of living. Even though he had several kills, he knew he was saving lives – the brave men on the ground at the front lines. Even though he died with each mission, a fresh new letter was the only thing that kept him alive.

He pulled out his worn leather suitcase from under his bunk with his equally worn hands. He carefully opened the case and gazed at the purple velvet lining. He took a deep breath and started to pack. He folded his civilian trousers and placed them in first. They were his legs that walked him to the recruiting office just as the war broke out. Next, his dress shirt. It had once covered his innocent heart which gave him the courage to leave home. A blue tie followed which reminded him of the civility and freedom for which he fought. Important to him, like the details in planning, he placed the smaller items in next. Brass cufflinks. Shaving kit. Toothbrush. Comb. A library edition of Ernest Hemingway's short stories. And a framed photo of his mom and dad. All the items he couldn’t take with him. And then he sat with pen and paper:

    Dear Mom and Dad,

    I can’t tell you how many times I’ve written this letter. Since it is in your hands now, I have gone to a better place. I pray that my death meant something. By the strength that you taught me I persevered. When I joined, I was only a young man – truly just a boy. The Royal Air Force taught me to be a man. Please know that I thought of you each time I went up in the air – the seemingly infinite air. And in the presence of the Infinite God, I will pray for you. I didn’t have much time to write this letter as my orders required immediate attention. Continue to give each other the attention and love I experienced and admired in both of you.

    Your endearing son,

    Ian

He sealed the letter and carefully placed it on top of his dress shirt. He turned and walked toward the window to gaze at his plane – a Hawker Tempest with Flying Dead emblazed on the cowl. Along with his wingman, she was his best friend and ally. He closed his suitcase as if he were closing the lid on his casket. He closed his eyes and imagined the letter inside the darkness of his suitcase. He walked out to his plane in a disciplined manner. And then, with an eruption of smoke, he brought the engine to life.