In The Ready Room (06-05-1942) Poem by John F. McCullagh

So sad, to see these empty chairs, where, just the day before,
Our brave young aviators sat looking like the gods of war.
They won a famous victory, our wing commander said,
But when a flyer dies in combat we never see them dead.

The planes they flew were obsolete; they never had a chance
The Zero is more maneuverable, so deadly and so fast.
Let no man doubt their courage as they pressed on their attack
in the sure and certain knowledge that they weren't coming back.

We render one last service as we pack up our friend's gear;
the pitiful remainders of their lives of twenty years.
Their absence? a reminder of the costs of victory.
Our friends? - forever on patrol, somewhere out at sea.