Several years passed since the rebellion:
a childish war over silly ideas,
things have settled; instead of shooting our own,
we shoot others.
A young boy, out of Williamston, only nineteen;
He enlisted into the ranks of the infantry:
he rates only an Airman First Class.
He was a smart kid in the dumb time.
Studied at an academy, he knew a little:
some physics, can do math, built a radio;
his education was no where near perfect,
he just listened to the talks of old wise men.
He stayed at an university for a year,
that was all his mother can pay for.
Now he's off to fight for his wage.
His enlistment, some wit he will gain soon enough.
Dark blue like his heart was his uniform,
leaving home and flying to far off places.
The stripes of his rank were as green as his experience in battle.
He was a good kid for a place for bad men.
He served on the Federation's Air Ship Louis:
FAS Louis' mission of the day was simply,
drop off men on this island that the Federation
wants to take. Just a normal operation.
How wrong were the tacticians!
Airplanes appeared from the port side,
gunning at the metal hull. Crew ran able insanely,
in fear the the hull was going to give to the bullets.
Plans changed, before getting just a blizzard of noise,
FAS Louis was ordered to be a decoy.
This transportation mission was now just suicide,
the radio was broken...
The crew had no way to transmit their position;
the radio room was port side,
and the airplanes banged up that side good.
Crewmen already died on that side.
The brave soldiers to be dropped
fought on the deck of the airship,
trying to gun down the airplanes.
Our young airman was starboard... waiting for fate.
“Airman!” said an older man, dressed for combat:
he was a sergeant with a crazy look in his eyes.
“I want you on my squad! We are going to scavenge
the radio and bring it here!”
The airman could not refuse the death sentence,
the radio was their only hope... all their lives
depend on a box. How else would they call for help?
The unkindness* of planes weren't.
So our airman followed the sergeant and four soldiers
to the main deck, out in the open air.
The ship was divided, without a second thought, into
three sections, each independent from another.
To reach the left hall, one must go down stairs into it.
The men counted to three, then ran out of the hatch,
into the open air and range.
Our airman ran the fastest, not caring he shot a man die.
Bullets rain from above onto foolish men who stayed.
Despite the weight of his iron boots, our airman was
first. Then the sergeant. Lastly, only one soldier.
The others were lost.
The hull of the port side was blown open.
The men could only pray this wasn't folly.
They quickly ran to the radio room,
surrounded by the sound of wind.
If it wasn't for the iron boots and vests...
well... thank God the Federation gave them.
The three men stood in the radio room:
The sergeant grabbed a metal box.
“This should work boys! Now to get this thing to the bridge!”
There was a sudden boom, and it felt intensely hot.
The airplanes started to fire missiles into the opening
that was the left hull. The men quickly opened the door
to smoke and flames, through they must go.
The men ran for their lives, a line needless to say.
The sergeant held the radio tight to himself,
not to let it be lost to the sky. Suddenly,
an explosion was behind the airman.
He looked behind, he was always ahead of the squad...
probably out of fear of his life.
The soldier was gone...
The sergeant was only pieces of a whole.
Yet, in his state, the sergeant took off his iron vest,
wrapping it around the radio, to keep it from flying away.
The sergeant looked at the airman, “... survive...”
before he flew away into the blue vacuum.
The boy crawled to the radio, weeping.
He carried the thing to the main deck;
he was in a daze, from loss and chaos.
Suddenly soldiers crowd the boy.
He was carried into the bridge,
holding on to the radio.
The captain told them to follow him to his quarters.
With no care, all on his table were on the floor.
Quickly a man took the radio from our boy,
placed it on the table, then opened the box.
The boy was so lost of everything that happened,
but he saw the captain slapped the man.
The man was an engineer, trying to fix
the broken radio. The radio was beat up
from the attacks and the boy's experience
didn't help.
However, the boy slowly walked to the radio,
all in the room just stared, as he tinkered
the inners of the life saving box.
The captain nervously turned it on.
A voice talked through the box,
everyone smiled but the boy...
he fainted... observing his head,
something hit him good.
The boy would wake up to glided wings next to the landed airship.
The radio allowed the captain to tell their position.
The glided wings were of airplanes that came to their rescue.
Now the ship was in an airfield for repairs.
A hero, he was called.
The next day, he was dressed up in formal uniform.
It was plain and white, till the captain gave him a
medal and some fancy awards to add some color.
Our airman was now a Petty Officer,
but no longer a boy. After the ceremony,
he looked up at the blue sky. In the air,
is where loss and gain takes place... a dream and a nightmare.
*Unkindness is an obsolete term for a flock of ravens
