The Bombing Run

Turning in for the bombing run, the drift is 'two to the port')
The bombing angle is given, and we settle down for the sport.
Five miles down is the target; a patch on the earth below.
The bombardier asks for the heading; the answer is 2-3-0.

Steady, steady, level off, steady, now take her left a bit.
The aimer knows his business, and he's sure of a perfect hit.
Steady old man, keep her steady - I know the air is rough.
The run is nearly over, the strain on the nerves is tough.
Bomb bay-doors are open, the target's in the sight;
The PFF has flared it - like a beacon in the night.

Bombs away! Lets beat it. Jerry is in a spot;
Flak is bursting round us, and the air is too darn hot.
The night is black as death, and the trip back home is long;
But we pranged another target, so we lift our voice in song.
Our tour is nearly over- just one more "op" to do;
And then I guess they'll screen us; providing we come through.

E.G.C. Richards