March 21, 1945 Wednesday

Dear One,

I’m still kicking mostly about the guard duty.  Last time (Monday night) was another 12-4. It wouldn’t be too bad getting out of the sack at midnight if it was decent weather, but this noise of standing on a landing strip full of planes that are just about floating off with the rain has got to come to a screeching halt.

 I waded around for awhile and felt like screaming every other minute “Man the pumps.  We’re taking on water.” After awhile when the big breeze came, I relaxed the military a bit and climbed into some British sea plane standing on the ramp but I guess I never kept quite a good eye out because when I was caught flat footed by the OD (Officer of the Day), I figured here’s where Mrs. Hyer’s little vagabond is up the proverbial creek and better brush up on the smooth vocabulary.  So I started off with a fine salute and what do you know, but that’s all it took.  It left me shaking a little other than Ma Nature’s cold shoulder but such is life.  I went to mutual last night and that’s really all I can think of to shoot the breeze about. 

So much affection.

Pablo