The Airman

        I stepped off Gazelle, my step-dad's fishing boat, and dropped into the cold water of the Pacific Ocean. My sneakers dangled in my hand above my head. I did not want the water to make them soggy. The ocean splashed up around me. Immediately, the water penetrated into my rolled up jeans and wet my lower legs. My feet touched the soft sandy ground. I wobbled, almost tipping into the ocean.

       “Careful there, Roxy,” Dad chuckled as he secured the boat.

       “Yeah, careful. Hate to have ta leave ya for the sharks,” added Uncle James.

       Looking down into the small sapphire waves, I could see the ocean floor scattered with brightly colored seashells and clumps of seaweed. The sand snuggled between my toes.

       Marching through the waves, I gazed at the small island in front of me. Tropical trees and bright colored flowers glowed on the shore. A coal colored mountain rose from the island's side. On the beach, something shiny gleamed in the sun.

      Suddenly, I had an urge to explore the uncharted land.

      I called back to Dad and his crew,“The island's beautiful.”

      Dad took the hint, “ You can look around for a half an hour or so; just be back to do your part in harvesting the clams.”

      “Alright,” I shouted back.

     “Hopefully she ain't gonna get lost again,” mocked Chip loudly.

     Dad jumped into the water. Two white buckets, to hold the gathered clams in, were in each of his hands.

     “Find me a city of gold,” Uncle James hollered.

     I gave him a thumbs up and rushed to the beach as fast as the water would allow me.

     On the island, I hurried to put on my shoes. I tied the laces thinking only about the adventure that awaited me.

     I first headed to the reflective metal I saw from the water. It looked to be a part of an airplane's outer cover. A white star in a blue circle was visible on one of the shiny scraps. Isn't that an American symbol? Crazy. An aircraft from the Vietnam or Korean War could have crashed here.

     I did not stay staring at the old rusted metal for long. The forest was where I wanted to explore.

    Climbing over mossy tree logs, I noticed a wide mouthed cave. The temptation was too great for my reasoning skills to function. I entered straight into the open cave.

    My eyes soon adjusted to the darkness. A human skeleton clothed in an unraveling uniform was drooped against the wall in front of me. Gear laid beside it. The gas mask, the helmet, the dented water bottle, they all had belonged to the once breathing person.

     Stepping back in surprise, I felt something under my foot. I picked up the object. It was a book. I squinted my eyes as I read the title, The Airmen Manual. I turned to the first page. The book's spine was soft and it opened easily. On the page, a name printed in dark blue ink was written, Dale Peter.

     The name was so familiar. I had to turn away for a moment and look back at the old pilot. And then I remembered. My great grandfather was named Dale Peter and he had be drafted into WWII. As Grandpa told it, his father had drowned in the Pacific after the Japanese shot his plane down.

    Flipping through the next pages in the booklet, I noticed hand-written notes and ripped slips of paper tucked in between. The closer I looked at the words, the more I began to realize that between the class notes and printed procedures on proper airman formation, Dale had written about his life. The further I moved into the yellowed pamphlet, the more desperate the words seem to fill every inch of space on the paper. Near the end, the writing suddenly stopped.

    I turned to the page where Dale's journal started. The first sentence made my muscles tense.

    He told me everything would be just swell and dandy, that war would not end this way.

    I shuttered but I read on.

    I think Mike told me this only to keep me from worrying. He knew I thought it was all bad news to be drafted into the war. He thought lying would shelter me. Well, not anymore.

    Now I am here and my brother's good intentions have been set in flames. My crew, my friends, are all dead. Louis, Adam, Mark, we have been through a lot together. I wish I could have died along side them.

    Our down plane is releasing smoke. I can see the black clouds rising over the trees. I was supposed to be an Airman Ace, but now I'm a broken solider.

    Moments before, I was struggling through the brush of this helluva island. I was looking for help, hoping that I could save my dying friends in time.

    I could not find aid at all and when I returned, only Mark was breathing. Soon even he could not fight his battle.

    My ribs are broken, that's for sure. My uniform is wet with blood. My whole body is trembling. My head is throbbing. Death is what my mind wants. My heart and soul tell me to survive. They tell me I must tell Adam's doll back home that he loved her. Tell Sara Miller that her brother, Louis, knows she will achieve her dream to be a famous journalist. I need to give my own mother a hug.

    Why is war so cruel? I never wanted to be a brave American soldier. Now I really regret not purposely trying to fail my admission test.

    I'm going to find a way off this island. Whether I am rescued by the Allies or the Japs, I don't care. Just bring me home.

    I glazed at the page while on the verge of tears. This was a journal from a World War II airman, my great grandfather, a solider that was desperate for comfort and help. I couldn't even imagine what he had gone through. No one knew that he had survived the crash and was stranded on the island. His parents properly got a letter saying their son had died in action. It was a lie. I forcefully closed the manual shut.

    This man had fought for his country. He and his friends had given their lives for the needs of America. What I found may not be the City of Gold Uncle James wanted me to find but, I discovered something better, the treasure of truth. Grandpa won't believe that everyone has got his father's story all wrong.

    I took the Airmen Manual with me. Dad would be wondering where I was. 

    Leaving the cave, I am blinded by the little light that beamed down from the tree tops. The musty, humid smell of the cave is gone. I filled my lungs with the fresh tropical air.

Weaving through the forest, I heard exotic bird calls echoing in the trees. I hold the booklet close to my chest.

    I reached the beach and spotted Dad, Chip, and Uncle James hunched over, picking clams off the rocks. I stood and watched them in the distance, debating whether I should tell them about the book right away. After a time, I decided to wait until sundown when I could tell them the story around the fire. I tucked the manual into my jacket pocket and button it shut. I didn't want the World War II book to plummet into the ocean as I helped harvest clams.

    Uncle James stood up to stretch out his back and saw me running toward them.

    “Find my gold?” he called to me with a grin.

    “That's a story I'll tell at the fire pit,” I said grabbing a bucket laying in the sand and head to a submerged rock covered in clams.