Not sleeping off a hangover, truth be told still drunk from a late night at an off-post dive. Drinking and singing and dancing. Up to my ears in an old, green, woolen blanket. The ground shakes with the explosion of a fallen ordinance. The bed moves. Soon a siren blares long and loud. Up from the bed I spring, pulling up the trousers, that lay upon the foot of the bed. One arm and then another into the shirt as I race out the barrack’s door bootless to experience a day like none other in my still young life. 7 December 1941, a salute to those who served us well.
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