This is the day that I have been assured we will complete our bombing run and then get out of the enemy territory as quickly as we can. I understand that all of the conditions are perfect but that doesn't make me feel better. The wind will be in our favor for getting away, the enemy doesn't seem to know that we are here because we have been hiding in the clouds, and it is the night of a full moon so we will be able to see our target. Just the same I almost wish we would be using our guns so that there would be something for me to do. I feel horribly helpless but I have been told that it is the best if I just pretend like I'm not here for the time being and write my pretty words about what they are going to do was the phrase one sailor used. I can't push myself on the crew so that is what I'm stuck doing.
I am sitting in the bridge, at a table out of everyone's way, where I will get the best view possible of all of the action. The captain set me up and has since not even looked at me since. The first mate did tell me to stop with the typewriter though, which is why I am writing in this journal instead as the events unfold. I suppose that the sound of me pounding on keys was too much for already frayed nerves and I should have known better without being asked. I will edit this later and write it up as a proper article since I don't write in here like I would write a newspaper column.
The captain just left me, he sat down for a few minutes to talk and he seems so calm that I am gaining confidence in how things might go. He says he has never had any real problems during a bombing run before and that while he will not be lowering his guard, he expects this one to go off alright. I hope it wasn't anything in my facial expression that led to him believing I needed comforting though, I have a reputation that I would like to build and if I am so easy to read no one will ever trust me on the crew. They are all so tough and determined that they put me to shame.
Of all times for the captain to decide to talk of old times, now when we are about to complete this mission, he sits down next to me again, sipping coffee, as cool as you'd please. I will write the conversation as close as I can remember because it has completely distracted me from my fear and concern. Nothing else is happening yet so I'm not neglecting work.
“I see you've been busy at writing for that paper you work for. I remember how proud your father was when you got into college, he couldn't stop telling me about it. He talked to me a lot since I was the youngest of the crew and sometimes reminded him of you. I was ambitious back in those days, lots of big talk came from my lips and your father told me that you were like that too. He said you were always talking about how you were going to be better then him. Then you got into college and I thought he would pop he was so pleased,” was what the captain opened with.
I don't see how that could be right, I know that the captain is talking about the same man as I know but I can't combine the two images into one person. My mother, when she was alive, was always very supportive and was the one who helped me through my studies. I would try to talk to my father about school and he always acted as if I was boring him, like he wasn't pleased with me in some way. The things he had to say my entire life about learning from books was never complimentary, and now the captain was trying to tell me that my father was proud of me for the learning I got from books.
“He had an odd way of showing it,” was all I said. The bitterness in my voice, I am a rotten actor, made the captain look at me sharply for a second and for a second I thought he was going to scold me for bad mouthing my father, like mother used to. It was much the same look.
To be continued...
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