TRAVIS AIR FORCE BASE, Calif. -- Col. Lloyd Neblett, USAF Retired, passed away last week at the age of 96 years old. He was the commander of the 301 AS troop carrier squadron during the D-Day invasion.
Col. Neblett was invited in June 2007 to Mildenhall, England to take part in an inaugural visit of the 301st Airlift Squadron and the 99th Squadron at Brize Norton in a remembrance of the two 301st Troop Carrier Squadron members buried there who were killed in a C-47 crash in Scotland during WWII.
Over the past ten years the 301st Airlift Squadron has had a personal relationship with him and his family. He has traveled from his home in Tulsa, OK to see the squadron members and they have a trophy closet with some of his original gear in their entranceway.
Please keep Col. Neblett's family and friends in your thoughts and prayers in this time of bereavement.
CREED OF THE TROOP CARRIERS
(As provided Senior Master Sgt. Robert Wade, USAFR Retired, as given to him by one of the original 349th Troop Carrier Group members)
When the last bloody word has been spoken,
When the saga of war has been told,
When the last of the heroes have been cited,
I shall tell you a tale of the bold.
I shall sing you a song of the transports,
The sturdiest ships in the sky,
And I'll sing you a song of the warriors,
Who ask nothing more than to fly.
Unarmored, unarmed, over laden,
Their mighty grey wings take to air,
Through storms, the unknown, the moon's hush,
With the freight that must always get there.
Hugging the hills and the valleys,
Vaulting the cliffs and the trees,
Dodging the weather, the Stukas,
Honor the youngest of these.
Aching to fight, but quite helpless,
Yearning for speed that's not there,
Clumsy with freight out of balance,
Chained to the flight of despair.
You can't slug it out with a Messerschmitt,
You can't run, you haven't the speed,
So it's hide in the trees of the weather,
But take it through, stick to the creed.
The wounded on board are charges,
You're shackled to a rudder and a wheel,
No chutes, no belts, no life rafts,
You'll slam them to hell if you fail.
Or the engines on board for a lightening,
Are grounding a fighter tonight,
While a dozen or twenty-odd Stukas,
Will live till she's back on the fights.
Take it through, take it through, is your cry,
To hell with the flak in your way,
To hell with the Krauts and the weather,
Your number was called yesterday.
You're living because you've been lucky,
But, possibly, could it be so,
Some bright angel rides there beside you,
Ride here buy-win, place or show.
This is the song of the transport,
Weary from many a mile,
A song of the crew who fly them,
Down into hell with a smile.