"The young private was fighting desperately in the trenches when he ran out of ammo. Sergeant, Sergeant, I'm out of ammo! he cried. The sergeant shouted, Private you get back in the fight, point your weapon at the enemy and yell Bangity bangity! So the private pointed his rifle at the oncoming enemy, yelled Bangity bangity! and one of them fell over dead, but the other kept coming. The private said, Sergeant I missed one, what do I do now? I've got no bayonet! Private, said the sergeant, then you point your weapon at him and yell Stabbity stabbity! So the private aimed at the next soldier, yelled Stabbity stabbity! and the enemy fell over dead. Then the private saw the third soldier running towards him. He pointed his weapon and yelled Bangity bangity! but the soldier kept coming. He yelled, Stabbity stabbity! but the soldier kept coming, leaped the trench, and trampled the private. And as the private lay dying, he heard the last soldier saying:

"Tankity tankity, tankity tankity..."

.....

I was the mascot of a bomber in the Fighting 109th. I was emblazoned on the armor of our warship, and I graced our uniforms, making my home above each man's heart. My crew hung me over their cots, where I watched over them as they slept and greeted them each morning. Some of them even etched me into their very flesh, so I could be with them to the end of their days.

Whenever my men were called to battle, I rose to fight with them. They knew I would destroy the enemy for them, protect them, and carry them safely home. Through every victory and defeat I was there for them, as constant as the sunrise. Over the decades and incarnations, many hundreds of men and women fought bravely in my name and defended my honor against all comers. Other crews might laugh at us, but my men knew the crew of the Tan Kitty was the fiercest, and I was the proudest mascot of them all.

We were on patrol over the desert when the spaceships came. We threw our full strength against them. My sisters and I tore them with our guns and shattered their hulls with our payloads, but we had no defense against their energy weapons, and many of us were destroyed. My men and I fell from the sky in a spiral of flames, and our lives were crushed out when we hit the desert sand.

Deep in the desert's heart, the ancient spirit of Bast was stirred by the sacrifice of these valiant cat-worshipers. She crafted a body for me from the sand and stone that are the flesh and bones of the desert, and she gave the blood of my men back into my hands for safekeeping. Now I fight for the honor and the names of my men. I will crush my enemies to dust with the force of my weapons, and I will avenge every last one.

(Dedicated to the "pilot" of Red Firehawk. May he return safely home.)

.....

Background reading:

(Article on the phenomenon of WWII nose art)

(A particularly nice leather girl)

Examples of nose art from the 13th bomber squadron

Don Soefker had the most egalitarian name for his plane. He called it aptly "THE FIRST TEAM" and had the names of the wives and girlfriends of his air and ground crew painted on the nose. Don had a gay navigator, which accounts for the name "Butch."

(Nose art of The First Team)

(Cartoon diary of a fighter pilot)