I went to the reviewal for my cousins' grandpa tonight. He was a bomber in WWII. Facinating. I'm not going to have exact details from memory, but as I looked at the memorabilia there, I learned that he was part of the 100th Squadron; they called themselves the Bloody 100s because of the number of people they lost. He kept a journal of his days in the service. He hand-wrote the journal, of course, but my aunt typed it up and put it into a spiral binder. Bound and typed (with many pages of news clippings and photographs), it's probably 300 pages. I want to read the entire thing (although that was, admittedly, not the time nor place). One quote I loved (and I'm paraphrasing from memory): I went to confession and communion before today's mission. (I always do. You never know which mission is going to be your last). There are no athesists among the pilots. That's one good thing about war, I guess.
In high school, history was such a chore. Now, I can't get enough. Thanks to those brave people for freeing so many and for preserving our freedom. Rest in Peace, Robert, you served your missions well.