Flight of the Forgotten. Mark A. Vance

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      “Richard Robak, our navigator.” Buster continued, leading me down the line as the navigator offered a salute and a firm handshake.

      “It’s good to see you, Mark.” he said cheerfully. “We’re grateful for everything.” he added as I just stared at him in wonder.

      “Hillburn Cheek, our flight engineer.” Buster continued, leading me by the arm.

      “A pleasure, sir.” Cheek declared, saluting and extending his hand.

      “The pleasure is all mine.” I replied as Buster kept leading me down the long line of men. When we finally reached the end, I found myself face to face with Jack Ketchum again as Buster said, “And of course you know Lieutenant Ketchum, our boss.” and I shook hands with Jack Ketchum again, the man I’d worked with for days in the adjoining countryside. It wasn’t the least bit unsettling really. They seemed to have a great deal of respect for me, though I didn’t really understand why. I was in their element after dark, an unimagined venture to those down in the village, but I’d never felt more secure.

      “We really appreciate what you’ve gone through to help us.” Jack Ketchum said as the others began forming a circle around me. “We want you to know you’re always safe with us around. We’re always together with you in the aviator’s eternal circle.”

      “Thank you.” I replied, eyeing Buster thoughtfully.

      “We’ll be there for you when you cross to this side too, just like you were for us.” he continued.

      “I … I don’t remember any of that. I’m sorry.” I replied awkwardly.

      “No, of course not. That’s why we’re here, so you can complete your life’s mission.” he said somberly as the others began tightening their circle around me. When they closed to within an arms-length, intense lifelike images began filling my head as each man imparted his thoughts and recollections on me in vivid detail. Suddenly, their thoughts became my thoughts; their experiences became my experiences, as I watched each of them passing from this world to the next. It was incredibly intense as I relived each emotion and physical trauma of their passing.

      “Oh, my God!” I uttered over and over. I could see their airplane burning and breaking apart in the air above us, feel the terror and initial chaos as their spirit guides tried desperately to help them transition to the sudden change. There was so much adamant denial.

      “No! This can’t be happening! We’re going home! We made it through the war!” they shouted as they fought the transition fiercely. In my head, I felt Buster’s pain as the fatal blow to the back of his neck sent him abruptly to the other side. There was so much shock, so much lingering sorrow, and so much sadness. But there was also intense love. The intense love between Jack and Bobbe and the love the other men had for their families. It was extraordinary but it made their sudden separation even more painful.

      Soon, I began to understand why they said they’d met me before as I watched my own image intervene and try to offer reassurance. I was overwhelmed by the inhumanity of it from the outset, mortified at the unbelievable cruelty and injustice of the act that had dishonored these brave men on their way home. It was what followed, though, that cemented my determination to return to this existence and correct it. There had been a cover-up, a massive, well-orchestrated cover-up by the people in charge that had left the Jack Ketchum crew and their sacrifice permanently erased from the record. Their last flight was literally a flight of the forgotten and the reason for it had come from the U.S. government itself, from those they had served with honor.

      Inside that eternal circle, I then began to witness the events leading up to that final fatal encounter. In my mind’s eye, I could see them gathering for a mission briefing several months before the crash. It was the beginning of a tremendously futile effort to survive, the beginning of the end. Hundreds were being lost around them daily. There was nothing special about the Jack Ketchum crew in the late winter of 1944. They were just nine young men with a strong sense of duty and an equally strong desire to stay alive. More than anything else, they just wanted to live.

      The images in my head began slowing to real time then as if I were sitting on that hard wooden bench next to them, waiting for a mission briefing to begin. It felt real, not like a dream at all. I felt each emotion and physical response as I listened to each thought as though it were my own. All around me, there was a rising tide of fear and apprehension as men waited together inside a crowded hut. Events then began passing with agonizing slowness as an incredibly overwhelming sense of homesickness and intense fear of never seeing my loved ones again suddenly enveloped me.

      It was as if I were one of them now, traveling back in time as we waited on that New Year’s Eve in 1944 for a mission briefing to begin. Inside me, I could feel the tension, smell the cigarette smoke and hear the chatter as we waited together on that hard wooden bench. As the minutes passed, we all began to wonder what fate had in store for us, and worry that, if it was bad, would the end at least come quickly?

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