BOOM! I turn and look outside of my plane. I look around for what the cause of the noise is. I quickly see an ally plane heading straight downward; it must have been shot. I see the pilot eject out of the seat. Seeing that he is ok, I return my attention to the enemy train. As I glace down at the supply train, I see the beautiful hills, valleys, and farmland of Fritzlar, Germany in the background. The hills, undulating like waves in the ocean, appear to go on forever. I snap out of my thoughts and see bullets, being fired by the German military on the train, narrowly missing my plane. I return fire and watch as more bullets miss me by only inches. The fight is getting very intense, and I am not sure which side is winning. After some time, the train appears to be losing gunners; there is less enemy fire. My squadron leader begins to speak to me from a nearby plane, “Stephen, use your bombs to try and derail this train.” “Yes sir,” is my response. Before I make the maneuver to go ahead of the train, I tell my leader, “Remember, if I don’t make it, tell my parents I love them.”

At the beginning of World War II, I was reluctant to join the Army. I was just an average guy, who was of an average height and thin build. But as the war continued on, I felt obligated to join the Army and serve my country. After all, I was a young able-bodied twenty-three year old. I felt very proud to have been one of the few chosen for pilot training. I was lucky enough to have been assigned to the Army Air Corps and to the 365th Fighter Bomber Group, better known as the “Hell Hawks.” Here I am now, after only a couple of months of flying overseas, on a very dangerous mission. I never been in such a precarious position before, and I must admit, I am scared. My biggest fear is dying in the line of duty, but now I have to get over that. My country needs me.

Continuing my maneuvering towards the front of the train, more bullets race by my window. Bullets have never come so close to me in any battle, and of course I worry, but only for a second. I have no time for doubts. I need to concentrate. BOOM! I look out my window and see another one of our planes has been shot. Black smoke is pouring out of the plane. I hope my buddy is ok.

My plane is finally positioned correctly, and I see the train approaching my direction. The time for me to drop my bomb is imminent. Another wave of bullets is shot at me, and I hear a bullet so close by that I fear it hit me. I quickly analyze the body of the plane and all my control panels, and everything appears intact. I continue on.
With an enemy bullet storm showering all around me, I discharge my bomb. I watch as it falls to the Earth, hoping it hits the target. Time seems to freeze as the bomb nears the ground. I watch as the bomb impacts right in front of the train. Time slows even more as an explosion, as bright as the sun, erupts where the bomb once was. The train engine is blown to pieces, flying in every direction. The remaining cars of the train veer off the track and hit the nearest hillside and burst apart. After a moment, time appears to return to its normal state. I take a deep breath, as I realize I have been holding it in. I say a prayer of thanks.
The team leader examines the scene below and determines it is safe to land and investigate the damage. Our squadron team lands, and we find all our pilots are alive. There appears to be no survivors from the train wreck, although there are many bodies scattered about the area. We begin to look through the shambles around us, looking for anything of value that may help our cause. We collect many things including med kits, ammo, and flags. I pick up one of the red Nazi flags lying on the ground, and it is surprisingly intact. The Nazi emblem, quite frankly, makes me sick, but I also am proud of winning this particular mission and think the flag will have historical value one day and remind me always of this successful raid. I pick the flag up and carefully fold it to place it in my jacket pocket. I begin to think that it would be quite memorable if everyone from my squadron would sign it. I love these men as if they were my brothers.
As we continue to survey the train ruins, it becomes chilly and we set up a fire, and suddenly the mood becomes festive. We pass along the flag and everyone begins to sign it. I begin to think, “One day, I hope I have a grandson who will want to proudly show this to all of his friends.” As I am deep in thought, I hear my name being mentioned by one of my buddies, and he is commenting, “Do you remember that time when Steve walked onto that mine field to save our friends life? Now he has just been successful taking out this train. Guys, I think Steve is becoming a war hero!” Everyone laughs but agrees. Being somewhat modest, I reply, “Anyone could have done it; that wasn’t anything special.” Someone yells, “Are you kidding me? I would have never done that!” I just shake my head and embarrassedly walk away from the fire and walk back to the train.
As I’m investigating near by the train, my shoe hits a little bump in the ground. Wondering what it is, I pick it up. Although I am far away from the fire, I can clearly see what this object is. It is a baby’s shoe. My head starts spinning, and I can’t believe what I am seeing. “ What is a baby shoe doing here in the middle of this wreck? Where did it come from? Where is the baby that belongs to this shoe?” All these questions fly through my mind. I sit right down on the ground and place my head in my hands and concentrate very hard. “This tiny shoe must have belonged to a real baby. Does this mean there may have been a baby on board this train? How could this be?” We knew the train was pretending to hold passengers to disguise the war supplies, but it never dawned on me that there might have been innocent people on this train. I become horrified with the thought that I may have killed innocent civilians including small children. I inspect the area once again. It’s dark and I don’t see clearly, but all I see are soldier remains. I really don’t want to share this discovery with anyone. I see we’re preparing to load up and head back to our base. I may never learn who was really on board this train today.
Months passed by following this incident. The war was won and I returned home to Boston, Massachusetts to a hero’s welcome. My family often asked me stories about my war experiences. I have retold some, but I have left many details out. Deep down, I’m still confused about what I did on the day I bombed that train. I keep that baby shoe hidden in the floorboards of my parent’s home. It will always remind me of the horrors of war. I hope my future sons and grandsons will never have to fight in a war and be forced to deal with the fear and guilt I struggle with.