Третья мировая война 1946 - Красная волна - Сталин атак впервые - Альтернативная история

Третья мировая война 1946 - Красная волна - Сталин атак впервые - Альтернативная история
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Monday, August 19, 2013

Shot Down by Tallthinkev


He ran.

It was all he could think off.
Running and living.
His parachute was only 1k away and not hidden too well.
They hadn't told him there would still be so many RAF aircraft still flying. The last gasp of a dying man.
Some of them had German squadron markings like the Typhoon that had shot him down. Do the high ups know that the English had German pilots with them. Of course they did, that's why they sat in a nice office and planed the victory that was sure to be theirs.
Or could it be an English trick and there were no Nazi's. He knew that Poles had fought the Nazi's with the English, could Poles be shooting at him? No, that was stupid, why would they shoot at him. Poland was now under the care of Stalin. We and the Poles fight capitalism together.

He had made his way from the spat that his flight gotten themselves into. North east in his case, where the others were, he didn't know.
He had managed to nurse his Yak for maybe, 100k more than he could have possibly have had hoped for. True he was away from planes trying to shoot him up further. Also true, he was getting further away from home base.
Southampton had been the target, how the raid went he knew not, hopefully well. Another victory for the Motherland and for the forces of freedom.

It was warm. He was almost wet though, more sweat dripped into his eyes forcing him to wipe it away with the back of his hand
He spied a small clump of trees five hundred meters to his left, a good place to hole up for the night.
After a fitful sleep he was awoken in the early morning by the barking of a dog.
Had this animal been sent to hunt him down?
Or was it some bodies pet?
If it was a hunting dog and it found him what then?
Fight his way out or surrender?
A pet, hide or flight?
He had not been given training for this situation.
Then he saw the dog itself a medium sized mutt, weather beaten and mangy, bounding across the field next to the small wood. Bounding in his direction. He heard a whistle, the dog stopped, looked behind and responded to the call of its master. A few minutes later he couldn't see or hear the hound.

What now? He hadn't eaten for over a day, there was a small stream that ran though the wood so water was not a hindrance. Food was what mattered.
He decided to leave the wood, He skirted the edge fields moving slowly and keeping close to the fences and hedges, after about an hour saw a church and a small village just beyond.
He waited.
It was now getting dark. He couldn't see any one, he hoped over the low wall and made for the door at the rear of one of the houses and gently tried to see if it was open.
Locked.
He tried two more, again locked. He didn't want to make any noise.
The forth house had a back door that was open.
He entered courteously, it was the kitchen. On the table was a loaf of bread, newly baked. He tore into it.
A noise from behind, he turned. Held up his hands and then knelt on the floor. His mouth, still full of bread.
'There's a good lad just you stay there,' said the woman.
He had no intention of doing anything else, the chance of a blast from the shotgun she held made his mind up for him.
A shout 'Mum, mum where are you?'
Should he make a move?
A young boy came into the kitchen.
'John just you stay there. Don't move, do you hear?'
Another voice 'What going on Gwen?'
An older woman entered and pushed John behind her.
'Put that gun down Gwen, can't you see his scared out of his wits. Come on lad get up and sit down I'll make you a nice cup of tea.'

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