When ya gits old... ya gits flashes of old memories sometimes. And ya dreams about old times, too...
(background music fades to silence... distant, faint booming... rustling wind increasing until roaring... the sky is filled with fat -- they ran out of flak that day)...
There I was again, in my B-17, the Boeing Constrictor -- Over Schweinhausbergenhafen, with three engines burning, one of them turning...
...and the autopilot had just bailed out with the last parachute, leaving me with a silkworm and a needle. I was one busy motherforker...