Harry Kellogg III - The Red Sky - The Second Battle of Britain

It seems the basement has been turned into a kind of headquarters for some kind of fighting. They have put down large maps of what I assume is Britain and the women are moving around and listening to something though contraptions they have about their heads. Apparently they can speak and hear something or someone that tells them to move little pieces of wood around on the maps using long thin sticks with a little hoe at the end. They push these wood blocks around and others watch them and then the men rush off to talk into those phones. So far the majority of the blocks have stayed in France from what I can figure out.

I remember another time when what sounded like explosions shook the house. Sometimes for what seemed like hours. Then the sirens would stop and all would be quiet. I wonder if that was going to happen again? I don’t get much excitement in my existence anymore. I had long ago stopped thinking of the reasons for my existence and just continued being.

English is not my native language or I should say this version of English. I can catch some of the words but much of what is said is beyond my comprehension. I believe I have lost the ability to learn. This is most annoying considering that 3 of the upstairs floors are filled with books. I very rarely come down from the 4th floor and even more rarely come out of the room but the noise down the basement was too much of a temptation.

The air shaft provides a convenient passageway down and saves me from the look of horror when I am seen. I can be seen or not seen at my discretion but I prefer not to be touched. So the air shaft is a perfect conduit to the goings on in the basement. I will state most emphatically here and now that I do regret the deaths I have caused. Some were not my fault but one was. You see I can see into the hearts of the sentient beings I come in contact with. That is why I do not like to be touched or to touch anyone.

The person I killed or should I say frightened to death was a monster. Some drunk sailor that has just horribly raped a young girl as he had done many a time before. This time she had died. At the age of 13 she had been used and then strangled and then mutilated by this butcher. Shortly after this horrific deed he ended up stumbling into my room along with his partner. I was so startled by their sudden appearance that I was touched by him. I then saw what he had just done. So I made myself known and he died of fright I guess you would say. His friend escaped.

One of the men down in the basement almost reeked of malevolence. He was an evil man. I was very tempted to make myself known to him down in the basement but for some reason I felt it was against some unwritten rule. He was going or had done something very heinous to the others in the room and also to many others. He was going to cause the deaths of many yet would also save many; an interesting outcome that I did not quite understand. In war one sometimes forgets that there are two or more sides and when one side wins the others lose and the death of one can save the lives of many. This man I would have liked to meet face to face in the room upstairs.

I have overheard and understand that I am quite famous in certain quarters. The current residents in the lower 3 floors do not bother me but run their book business and leave me alone. I do prefer this. I really do not like frightening people. My home is called the most haunted house in London. I suppose I should be flattered but I do not know my role in the grand scheme of things. Why am I trapped here? What is my purpose? Have I been here for decades to just frighten to death that sailor? How do I find release and peace?

My address is 50 Berkeley Square London, England. Do not drop by for a visit. You will most likely be sorely disappointed… or depending on what is in your heart… possibly not. [24] Extreme Hauntings: Britain’s Most Terrifying Ghosts By Paul Adams, Eddie Brazil

Chief of the Air Staff 1st Baron Arthur Tedder couldn’t believe what he read. His office walls seemed to close in on him as he tried to fathom what was before his eyes. They were actually listening to Douglas Bader. Douglas Bader of Big Wing fame… of the useless Big Wing fame.

He thought the death of Leigh-Malory would put an end to this nonsense. He was so stunned that he was paralyzed with disbelief. Not only where they going to try and take the fight to the enemy and give up all of their home air space advantages by conducting useless fighter sweeps but they were going to concentrate their fighters in the larger fighter bases and defend them with massive amounts of AA guns making every one into a big flack trap.

For all he knew that part might work but the Big Wing controversy was supposed to be over and done with. It didn’t work last time and he was certain it wouldn’t work this time. But what could he do?

They were listening to Bader now. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out how Park had been persuaded. It wasn’t like him to give in so easily. Tedder knew he wasn’t a fighter man anyway. They wouldn’t listen to him for God’s sake on matters involving Fighter Command.

His sense of foreboding was mounting the more he thought about it. Four or possibly five to one odds and now this.

He had to leave the office and take a long… long walk. Possibly go home and see to his family and not think about what was to happen. Of all people Bader. Leigh-Malory’s hand rises from the grave. It was too much he had to leave before he did something rash. [25] Clash of Wings: World War II in the Air By Walter J. Boyne

Novikov Reports

Novikov paced outside the door of the most terrifying man in the world. He knew what game Stalin was playing. Hell he used it himself. He used it because it worked… Just like it was working on him. The trouble was he could not control himself.

Novikov thought… It’s the anticipation that does it. You just can’t help thinking about it. He knew what he was going to say. He had all the facts and figures. He had all the justification he needed to put the blame squarely on Beria. That little weasel had been out foxed by the RAF. His pool of spies had failed to alert the VVS of the upcoming attack. Without that advance information things were going to go wrong just like with any military operation. The only reason they had been almost completely successful in intercepting the Capitalist air raids was because of advanced notice. Without it Leningrad would be a smoking pile of radiation and more attacks would have followed on more cities.

What a monstrous invention the atomic bomb was. He actually hoped that the VVS will never be given the opportunity to use one. He didn’t know if he could sleep at night knowing he had created such wanton destruction. He wondered if the American commanders and pilots who detonated them over those two helpless cities in Japan had any regrets. Snap out of it Novikov… you have to be aggressive and have your facts in order.

Go over them one more time. Despite what the British press is saying we only lost 58 pilots and 116 planes. Out of tens of thousands of pilots that is not many. We lose more pilots per month in training then that. The destruction of facilities and supplies were well with in normal ranges for a day’s worth of combat. A pin prick your Excellency… no… Comrade.

I don’t want to seem too obsequious. He pretends to like that but in reality that is what gets you killed. He had seen it many times. Many times…

Concentrate Alexander… he is the most dangerous man on earth… yes a pin prick Comrade and easy healed. If Beria had warned us like he contends he can, this would not happened at all. If you will recall Excellency, Comrade Beria is the one who promised to inform us of any major raid by the RAF and USAAF. And I will say that so far he has been doing very well. But to blame me and the VVS for this is beyond reason. If anyone is to blame it is the NKVD under the direction of Lavrentiy Beria.