Thoughts in the dugout

"In my shelter, there is a lamp hanging from the ceiling that I had made from an aircraft engine. It comes from an aircraft that I shot down. I installed lamps in the cylinders, and when I lie awake at night and leave the light on, this chandelier on the ceiling looks fantastically eerie, God knows. When I lie there, I have a lot to think about. I write it down without knowing whether anyone other than my closest relatives will ever read it. I am considering writing a sequel to ‘The Red Fighter Pilot’ for a very specific reason. Now the battle, which is being fought on all fronts, has become damn serious; nothing remains of that ‘fresh, cheerful war’ as our activities were called at the beginning. Now we have to defend ourselves desperately everywhere so that the enemies do not invade our country. I now have the dark impression that the ‘Red Fighter Pilot’ shows people a completely different Richthofen than I feel myself to be. When I read the book, I grin cheekily at myself. Now I don't feel cheeky at all. Not because I imagine what it will be like when death comes knocking at my door one day, certainly not, although I am often reminded that it may happen one day. I have been told by the highest authorities that I should give up flying myself, because one day it will catch up with me. But I would feel very miserable if, now, burdened with glory and medals, I were to live out my days as a pensioner, preserving my precious life for the nation, while every poor fellow in the trenches, who does his duty just as I do, perseveres. I feel miserable after every air battle, but that is probably due to the after-effects of my head wound. When I set foot back on the ground at the airfield, I make my way to my four walls, wanting to see no one and hear nothing. I believe that's how it really is; it's not like people back home imagine, with cheers and shouting. It's all much more serious, more grim."