This was a very sorrowful, solumn, and disturbing duty. We would take across the pond the instruments of destruction and then return with the destroyed. I was very disturbed for many years afterwards .... the horror of directing and helping the loading and unloading, the setup in the large hangers for the poor families to come .... it was eating at my soul.
From time to time, it can still hit hard; but I believe I have recovered well and have a great deal of pride in what I (and my team) had to do for fellow compatriots, friends, family, and country.
During my "recovery" period, after I finished my tour, I wrote a poem that seemed to describe my inner thoughts.
REQUIEM (Mournful Song for the Battle Brave)
Over here - The plea was near The pocked men - The pocked earth The verdict - No win.
Over here - The plea was near There they lie - With wounds aflame And their eyes - Towards the sky.
Over here - The plea was near We sprang as seed - To comfort those Who needed us - In time of need.
Over here - The plea was near We too cried - The ancient drone Of mortal wound - And died.