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The Pilot Who Never Came Back

The mist was rolling in clouds, opaque
As I hurried along the line,
Looking for A3-22
The Mirage of Lieutenant Devine,
There wasn't much hope of flying time
If the weather didn't improve,
But I still had an Instrument Pre-Flight
‘Just in case, ' said the Duty Crew.

‘You never know with Devine, ' they said,
‘He'd fly in a howling gale,
At the first swift burst of sunlight, he'll
Be sitting right here on your tail,
Trying to give you the hurry-ups
As you strap him into the seat,
A bit of a caution is Jack Devine…'
‘A pain in the arse, ' said Skeet.

Skeet was the Armament Fitter that
I found under 22,
Fitting the Matra Missile there,
And a sidewinder, or two.
‘Where the hell is he going, this
Is more than a training run! '
‘He's going on out to the firing range
Out there, past Avalon! '

Devine appeared in the mist, while
Taking the pitot covers off,
I pulled all the undercarriage pins
As he gave me the hurry-up,
‘I'm going the moment the mist has cleared,
So do what you have to do! '
I climbed in, ran up the gyro's
Checked out the auto-pilot, too.

He wouldn't wait for a moment
So I threaded his lanyards through,
Pulled out the Martin-Baker pin
And held it out for his view,
He sat on the live ejection seat
Took whiffs of the oxygen,
And sat impatient, drumming his feet
‘Til a little bit after ten.

I stood by the guy on the battery cart
To wait for the mist to clear,
The pilot gave thumbs up for a start
We could finally disappear,
We watched him heading off down the strip
With a roar like an avatar,
And headed on back to the duty hut,
‘He'll be back in less than an hour! '

We grabbed a coffee, an hour went by,
But still no sign of Devine,
The Gunny had given a meaningful look,
He was cutting it more than fine,
He wasn't fitted with dropp tanks, so
An hour was all that he'd got,
We phoned the guys in the tower, and asked,
‘Is he overdue, or what? '

It was then that A3-22
Came screaming over the strip,
Smoke was streaming out of its tail,
Black as a coal mine pit,
He turned and landed, the fire trucks
Were waiting to put it out,
A pool of kerosine lay in the tail,
As Devine came tumbling out.

His face was thunderous, back in the hut
Where he signed the duty log,
But he kept his visor firmly shut,
Then turned, and he just stalked off,
I didn't see him again, but heard
He'd tried to report us all,
He blamed the erks for the whole damn works,
Said the engine nearly stalled.

He left the following morning for
Another Miracle flight,
We didn't go out to look for him
‘Til the day turned into night,
We never discovered his plane at all,
It's missing still, at sea,
But his wife was down in the hospital,
And that was what interested me.

She'd been admitted with cuts and scrapes
And scratches down to her feet,
They said that she was hysterical,
Was babbling in white heat,
‘I haven't a clue who that pilot was
Dressed in my husband's clothes,
But it wasn't my Jack Devine, ' she said,
‘And I think that a wife would know! '

She said he'd taken her there by force,
And raked her body with claws,
He'd bitten her shoulder ‘til it bled,
She couldn't fathom the cause.
He'd looked like her husband, walking in,
But then his body had changed,
‘He looked like he had a scaly skin
And his face was rearranged! '

The last that I heard of Jean Devine
Was in June, the following year,
She'd gone to deliver her baby
But was shaking in dread, and fear,
They told her that it had been stillborn
And refused to show her its face,
Or the tiny body scales it had,
Unknown to the human race!

18 September 2012

poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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