The engines roar, the crew are ready,
bomb bay loaded to drop on the enemy.
The squadron takes flight and noise fills the air,
another night sortie to who knows where.
Approaching the target and flak starts to fly,
the guns are booming, and flashes light the sky.
The searchlights are trying to pick out the planes,
thank goodness for cloud cover, which hides us away.
The bombs have been dropped and all targets hit,
then out from nowhere comes a lonely Messerschmitt,
He takes his position, right on our tail,
but cannot shoot, his cannons fail.
He then breaks off, but is soon replaced,
this one means business and is ideally placed.
With all guns blazing we are in his sights,
bullets start flying, this is one hell of a fight.
Two engines are hit and fire starts to spread,
the navigator and tail-gunner, both lying dead.
Losing control and we start losing height,
as another 109, comes into our sight.
Over the coast, heading out to sea,
all engines have failed, and fire burns free.
Heading down, to a watery grave,
the ultimate sacrifice, this crew have made.
Back at the airfield, the rest have returned,
feeling sad at the crash of which they have learned.
Over sixty years have passed, but their memories live on,
that one lost crew, but have they really gone.
For one summers night, while strolling the field,
the ghostly sounds of engines, a Lancasters, can be heard.
And out of the darkness, at the old aerodrome,
The one that was missing, has finally come home.
© RHV-CPP. 01.11.10