I could hear the engine. The noise wasn't right. I knew that from the moment we took off but when I mentioned it to the pilots, they simply laughed at me. Called me obscene names and laughed about the “simple-minded gunner” who “acted as if he knew everything”. I remained silent during the plane's take off. I remained silent until we lost control of the plane and then my silence was transformed into desperate screams of help.
Ever since I was born, long before this dreadful war but only two years before the previous war that Hitler resented, I had grown up with one goal in mind. That goal was that one day I would train to become a pilot. Not a pilot who controlled the plane which dropped the bombs upon innocent people, but a pilot who conducted stunts in the air that amazed all people young and old. I'd conduct air shows and inspire young children to become a stunt pilot like me, just like how I was inspired when I was young. My dream is incomplete. My goal can never be fulfilled.
My beloved mother has always described me as a sensitive young boy. Loving and caring, the phrase “wouldn't hurt a fly” being the perfect description for me. I always huffed at her when she said this, brushing off her words of compliments of how I was the perfect son but secretly agreed. I couldn't stand to be mean to anyone, even those who were deserving of scorn and spite. Perhaps this was my fault but I personally didn't think of it this way. To me, being forgiving of all was the right and humane thing to do. That's why I was distraught at the thought of going off to war.
Nineteen years young I was when war broke out. I cursed myself for being nineteen, the age where Hitler stated military conscription began for all able-bodied men which included myself. Shortly after the war began, I received the notice that I was to join the army or be sent to a camp set up by the SA where I would be “re-educated”. I wasn't one from running away. Thus, I signed up to join the Luftwaffe – or known as the German air force.
I guess I thought that by joining the Luftwaffe, I could receive some sort of pilot training. I had already begun my studies training to become a pilot, but the outbreak of war meant I was no longer able to do so. However, I was wrong. The war situation was a lot worse than anyone had imagined and the Luftwaffe did not have time to thoroughly train new pilots and simply dumped new recruits in the back of the plane to serve as gunners.
Our plane came down one dreadful November night in a wood somewhere over England. I can smell it, this fresh English air and feel the cold raindrops rushing down onto me, diluting the bright red blood that came from my body. The lower half of my body was numb after being trapped underneath the disintegrated metal body of the plane but I was still alive despite my horrific injuries. The pilot and co-pilot? Not so much. The explosions that came from the front's impact with the ground would surely have blown...