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

He really missed his Mum and never knew his dad. Just the men his Mum would bring home. Many of them were nice and if they were not Mum would make them leave. They brought him treats and that was nice.

At first the noisy crashes were scary but now he looked forward to them. A few had happened very close and one has sent noisy pieces of the plane spinning around him. He was nicked once by a small piece and had cried when he saw the blood. He really missed Mum then and had cried for a long time. He has no idea of time and as long as he had water and could still find the food that was in the building close by all he could do was to play by himself and watch the wonderful show going on all around him.

If he could count he would have known that he has seen 12 planes crash within a mile of where he was. 12 brave pilots much like the men who had visited his mother had died as his mother had died. Her body had saved his life as well as almost taken it. It had taken him quite a while to finally wiggle his way out from under her protective form. Once he had done that he could wander around and find the food and water his body craved.

He had long since taken off his pants and went poopoo and peepee wherever he wanted. His poop hole was kind of sore but not always painful and he could forget how much it hurt when he watched the planes.

The big guns on the ground that used to shoot at the planes had been silent for days now. The planes with the red markings had dropped things on them and used their winking wings to make them explode in awe inspiring explosions. Sometimes after the explosions men cried out, some far into the night. Curious he went over to what was once a man, but was now a smoking pile with a head and eyes. The mouth had stopped making a wailing noise and the eyes had looked at him in wonder as it tried to detach what might have been an arm and hand to touch him. Then it collapsed in a pile like his Mum, and stopped moving… they always stopped moving.

The fiery smears of flames that engulfed large areas, were his favorite. His hearing had been severely damaged but he could still hear them when they spread their beautiful warmth and fire filled clouds over huge areas that once contained men. These flame clouds had kept him warm enough during the night. They set things on fire and he would stand or lie near them far into the night. It was cold at night.

A couple of times men had tried to come to him but had been damaged and cut down by the circling planes and their winking wings. After a while no one seemed to care and he was alone in his playground of smoke, flames, explosions and the dead.

He could not go near his Mum any more. She had started to stink and then an explosion had taken her away. She had peed and pooped in her clothes while he was under her and he had asked her why she could do that without getting put in a corner when he could not, but she had not answered. Her eyes eventually turned dead and her body cold and he knew he had to leave her. He was very thirsty and hungry when he had finally wiggled out from under her.

He guessed he was a big boy now. He remembered the other big boys in his neighborhood could run around all day without their moms always keeping watch over them. His Mum did not watch over him anymore so he must be a big boy. He cried every so often and wished she was here to watch over him again. He did not like being a big boy all the time. He missed her. He missed her so much.

No one would ever know why he and his mom were there near the airfield. In years to come when they excavated the grave site they were shocked to find the remains of such a small child. He had only 6 more hours to live but he did not know that and was getting excited as another bunch of whirling planes caught his eye and he watched in fascination as three of the red marked planes tried to stay on the tail of the green plane with the circles on its wings. He knew they were circles. His Mum had taught him that.

Just before the green plane crashed into the ground it came very close to him and he saw the pilots face staring in wonder at him as he waved. He had a nice face. He wished that he was his father. The last six hours and 3 minutes of his life were like the last 3 days or so. He ate some food, played with some interesting pieces of metal, went to the puddle and drank some water, cried a few times in loneliness and then wandered into an area he had never been before. He fell into a large pit and never regained consciousness. That’s where all the other bodies were eventually put in temporary graves. His mother and the pilot of the plane that he waved at were put in the pit as well. One small pile of what was humanity waiting to be discovered and separated into still other holes in the ground. As we all know they are just bodies and not the real person.

His body was never identified and his remains were placed in an unmarked grave. There should have been no one to even remember his name or that he have once existed. Yet there was one. A secretary who had helped deliver him when she had heard his mother crying next door. Out he came before the doctor could get there. It was all she could to hang on to him he cried so loudly. She was going through some old records and getting ready to store them when she remembered the little boy being born to that young girl. Pretty hard to forget that. He had such a smile. Most newborns don’t smile. He did from the get go. She was sure that she would see him in the films. His smile was so dazzling even as a newborn.

His name was Jeremy. He stood out so vividly in her mind. She was 7 months pregnant and just then decided to name her baby Jeremy if it was a boy. Jeremy Beadle… now that had a nice ring to it.

Bill couldn’t believe his eyes. What was a little kid doing out here. For God’s sake this is crazy. Where’s his mother.

“Stop watching that child Bill and concentrate on your loading mate.”

“But Charlie he’s all alone… he’s crying and wounded. We have to help him! He’s going to die out there, we have to do something.”

“For Christ sake keep loading or we’re all dead including the boy!”

“There has to be something we can do… look at him he’s bleeding… he’s hurt and scared. He’s terrified we have to do something. We just have…”

“We’re out! Bloody hell we’re out! Alright let’s go then… we aren’t doing any good with an empty gun. Let’s go.”

Charlie is cut in two before Bill’s eyes and he just stares uncomprehending and then turns and jumps the gun emplacement sand bag wall and starts to sprint towards the boy. All he can think of is getting to him and bringing him to safety. He hears the sound of the engine and knows that a Sturmovik is coming in for a run at his former gun emplacement. He even hears the click of the bomb being released. A wave of heat washes over him but he is on the edge of the napalms impact zone and only his legs beneath his knees are engulfed in searing pain. He is knocked down and tries to get up but his lower legs are missing and then the pain hits. The second Sturmovik’s run splashes him with napalm again.

Splashes is probably not the right term for something that is a liquid flame that does incredible damage to the human body and soul of those who witness it and those who inflict it on others. This little splash, for wont of a better word, of this viscous, liquid flame hits his upper torso as he is struggling to remove his helmet. When the splash of napalm hits it is splashed further and lands on just a couple of patches on his left and right side. He drops his arms and they become welded to his body. This douses the flame but not before his arms are pinned. He finally starts to scream. He screams for what seems like hours and then something gets through the pain. Something cuts right though his agony. It is the little boy and he is standing by him and watching him.