Last Flight of the Buffaloes - a World War II Story on the Fall of Java

Chapter 17 - Another Airfield

They were let out of the plane one by one as an assortment of jeeps and field hospital trucks had been dispatched to their landing site. The ragged, dirty, broken men of the East Indies' Campaign crawled out of the bomber to a new sun, as they squinted their eyes on seeing the expanding base that was Port Moseby Airfield. Medics quickly came to treat Franky Drebbel, as he and the many other heavily wounded were brought to the field hospital nearby for imminent treatment.

Jack slowly stepped out of the plane, with Galveston helping him out. He looked around and saw what he thought was no less than magnificent. Allied fighter planes, Australian, American, lined up, ready to strike. Bombers of all kinds were setup, soldiers were drilling in formation and running. In the distance, four flag poles flew... three had union jacks, one was none other than his own red white and blue. The American flag waved, as if welcoming him back home.

"We made it?" asked Jack.

"Yeah. Yeah we made it." Said Galveston.

Jack felt his legs weaken, and he almost collapsed if Galveston didn't hold him up. With the adrenaline dropping, his fever returned. He was near fainting, and he would've fell on the ground if another American soldier didn't pick him up quickly. Galveston and the other man carried him to a jeep, where a stiff-lipped sergeant was waiting.

There, Jack, for the first time felt like he could relax his back for a moment and he did. Looking at the blue skies above, a group of P-40s passed by, and as he caught himself fixing his sights on the planes, he passed out from exhaustion and fever.

The next time he woke up, he was on a white bed wearing a clean t-shirt, fully showered, and in briefs, a blanket over his chest in a cool building. He no longer heard aircraft engines or any engines of the sort in the distance. He quickly rose from his bed, and with some lightheadedness, he looked around and saw that outside, it was dark. He set his back on his bed, and reached for his pockets for some cigarettes, which had gone.

A passing nurse then noticed that he had awaken, and quickly went to him. It was the first time he saw a woman for some time, and the first thing he asked her was, "Hey—lady—you got a smoke?"

"A smoke?" said the nurse. "You want Chesterfields or Luckies?"

"Luckies. You got food too? I... I uhh... Don't know... a sandwich?"

"Sure. We'll get to it."

"Coffee?"

"These things are the least we could give you, lieutenant." Said she. "You went through hell just to get some scrambled eggs. Everyone's talking about you—when you came in here, people called you Saint Jack. Couple of the guys who went through here even prayed for you."

"You're saying like I'm already gone, ma'am."

She chuckled. "Might wanna try what sandwich and coffee in heaven might taste like."

Weakly, Jack retorted: "Well, you ain't short of heavenly qualities yourself, ma'am."

"Aren't you a sweet one, Saint." Said she. She pat him on the legs and went off.

He looked around and saw that he was in a hospital. All that shit in the East Indies eventually felt like a big, bad nightmare. What he couldn't believe that all of that, was in fact, real, and really happened. What got him in the right mind to do all that? How was he even capable? Saint Jack... He laughed then, and some nurses passed by him and thought he was mad.

Perhaps he was. He closed his eyes, and his ears still rung. He could still hear the shouts of the Japanese, the deafening machinegun fire, men crunching over it, fighting over their lives in the mud and rain and guts and blood... What he was most amazed was that he had seen that all and hadn't lost it completely. The fact that he could still sense himself... no wonder the greats of history lost their minds after doing something that, would generally be thought as beyond or above humanity.