Chapter 376: London’s Tragic State

Happiness? It seems to be getting farther and farther away… As he thought this, he heard the long, piercing wail of the siren cut through

Happiness? It seems to be getting farther and farther away… As he thought this, he heard the long, piercing wail of the siren cut through the sky. Far away in London, the civilian, John, stood on a familiar street and raised his head. He squinted his eyes and saw the sky-covering bomber formation on the horizon. He saw the sporadic and disorganized barrage of fire from the anti-aircraft guns on the ground.

Four days after their second appearance over Manchester, the Butchers had once again appeared in British airspace, this time in greater numbers and more densely packed. Not far away, John saw a fighter plane with the insignia of the Royal Air Force painted on its wings, trailing thick smoke as it fell from the sky, making a tragic sound of tearing through the air.

What he didn’t know was that this was the last of the twenty Hurricane fighters that had scrambled to intercept the bomber group today. In the bombing of the suburbs, the British Air Force had sent out all the fighters they could muster in an attempt to intercept the German strategic bomber group, but they had been caught off guard by the Fw-190D fighters that had suddenly appeared above the clouds.

The German fighter units, which had a numerical advantage and whose pilots were more experienced in combat, had appeared over London. This made the helpless civilian, John, who was standing on the ground, think of a terrible question: Could it be that the Germans are already so close to Britain? Close enough to launch fighter planes?

A few days ago, he had been chatting with two officers who had been sent by the military to inspect the air-raid shelters, and he had talked about the German bombers that had bombed London. The two officers from the air force were clearly more knowledgeable than John. They had said that those were just new long-range bombers, and they had no fighter escort, so they only dared to come occasionally and were not that terrible.

John had remembered this profound analysis and had not forgotten to show it off to his wife when he got home at night. But now he saw those smaller, more agile fighters, those planes that could shoot down the British Air Force’s fighters from the sky, which also explained a simple truth to John: the Germans seemed to be closer.

But soon he had to move his feet, because those terrible bombers seemed to be getting closer and closer. From below, their huge forms looked somewhat like sacred crosses soaring in the sky. It was just that this cross did not bring good luck. On the contrary, it could bring death and destruction.

Small black dots were detaching from the fuselages of the planes and falling toward the ground in the distance. Every second, a muffled explosion was heard, and the earth was trembling to another rhythm, which made John’s trembling legs unable to decide for a moment which leg to move first to escape.

The German bombers had already passed over his head. Not far away, a block away, a napalm bomb had burst open. John had seen with his own eyes a large building being ignited into a giant torch. The people inside, on fire, had jumped from a high place, letting out tragic screams that made his hair stand on end.

Fortunately, the entrance to the air-raid shelter was right beside him. He was so scared that he quickly fled down the stairs, regardless of what other tragic things were happening on the ground. Rolling down the stairs with him was also a young officer. Following that, what poured in was a foul-smelling thick smoke and boundless dust and darkness.

The bomb that had been dropped by the side of the air-raid shelter was not a napalm bomb, but an ordinary one. Because there were many brick and stone buildings in London, after some discussion by several ammunition experts, it was felt that the effect of only dropping incendiary bombs would not be very good. So the German bombers had adopted a mixed bombing method of half bombs and half incendiary bombs. As for the effect, it was yet to be verified.

In any case, when the fortunate John, who had not died, had climbed up from the dim entrance of the air-raid shelter, he had found that the young British officer who had rolled in with him was already dead. His head was twisted at a strange angle from rolling down the stairs, and the expression on his face was also unforgettably ugly.

John moved his body a bit and found that he did not seem to have any fractures or sprains. He let out a sigh of relief, patted the dust off his body, and stood up. He looked at the corpse beside him, walked over and felt through all the pockets, and stuffed all the banknotes, watches, and the like into his own coat. He then stared at the revolver at the corpse’s waist. Finally, he gritted his teeth, pulled out the gun, and stuck it in his own belt, and then stuffed a few spare bullets into his own pocket.

He moved his feet, away from the corpse, and returned to the wide and bright street. It was just that now, that place was no different from a living hell. Everywhere were cries and the crackling of raging fires, a terrifying sound to the extreme.

John frowned and looked at the buildings in the distance that were burning into ruins, at the people who were constantly rolling on the ground, their skin already open and their flesh torn, charred black. In his heart, he actually did not feel the slightest bit of fear, only a trace of cold indifference of a bystander.

“Save my child! I beg you, save him! Save him!” a woman rushed over from the side, hugged John’s thigh, and pleaded hysterically, her voice seeming to pierce John’s eardrums.

John was startled by this woman who had suddenly rushed over. He looked in her direction and saw that a wooden building over there had already been burned to ashes, and not far away, a piece of charcoal the size of a child was still emitting hot black smoke.

“Madam! Your son is already dead! I can do nothing!” John said, looking at the mad woman, his reply a little hesitant, and also a little helpless.

“No! He can still be saved! He can still be saved! I beg you! Save my son! Save my son!” the woman still wailed relentlessly, her voice hoarse, a sorrow that pierced the bone marrow that made John feel very uncomfortable.

He broke free from the woman and fled in disarray, once again returning to the air-raid shelter, through the stairs, past the corpse, opened the heavy door, fled into the deep cave, and ran frantically in the direction of his wife and children, no longer caring about the mother who was still mad for her son.

He finally reached his spot and, seeing his wife and children sitting on the ground, trembling from the explosion and the tremor just now, John finally felt at ease again. He knelt beside his wife, embraced his family, and began to cry loudly.

It was unknown how long it had been before the family finally stopped crying. They also found that the number of people in the air-raid shelter had suddenly increased. There were old people and children, men and women, one after another, group after group. John knew that this was because the bombing had come again, and people no longer dared to live in their own homes, so they had rushed to flee into the air-raid shelter to escape the summons of death.

Of course, there were also people like John who no longer had a home. They were led by military officers to the various air-raid shelters and were arranged to live in places similar to refugee camps, which could be considered as having solved the housing problem for the homeless.

John had arranged for his own family, had piled some luggage around to protect half of their original space, and then had spoken a few words to the several familiar “neighbors” around him, asking these familiar friends and neighbors to take care of his family. He then once again squeezed through the crowd and walked out of the dim air-raid shelter.

He was a local civil defense warden and naturally had to go to the designated place to wait for the military’s instructions. This was his job, and also one of his current sources of income. Of course, John had been looking forward to the German bombing, looking forward to being able to do a little more work in exchange for the military’s grain and subsidies—but he had never expected that the second bombing would be so bloody, so frantic.

He climbed out of the main gate of the air-raid shelter, passed the unattended corpse, and continued up the stairs. And then his whole person froze there, his body stiff, unable to take a step. Because he saw the woman who had begged him to save her son, at this very moment, she was embracing her own son, burning, no longer shouting, no longer mad, only a dancing flame.

Finally, John still managed to tear his eyes away with difficulty, suppressed the urge to be sick and vomit, and continued to walk toward his assembly point. When he got there, he found that many people had already arrived. The leader was still the officer whom John was familiar with.

“Good… good morning, sir…” John said, walking to the officer’s side and greeting him in a low voice.

“John, is there still room in your air-raid shelter?” the officer asked, his face not looking very good. “Can you squeeze out a spot for my wife and son to move in?”

“It was already very full when I came out,” John said without thinking. “But there’s no problem squeezing two more people into my spot. At worst, you and I can sleep outside.”

“Thank you,” the officer nodded, accepting this favor. He then said casually, “Enlisting now is not a good idea, but I still have a little bit of power. Join the army as my adjutant. At least you won’t have to go to the front line.”

John knew that this was a repayment. If he didn’t find a good position for himself now, then in a little while, if they started a large-scale conscription, then he wouldn’t know where he would be sent to serve. So John nodded. “Then thank you, sir.”

Following that, John helped the officer to assign tasks, to divide the gathered citizens into groups, and to start clearing the rubble and extinguishing the large fires. They were helpless against the burning buildings and had to wait for the fire engines to arrive before they could deal with them. But it was said that the fire engines had all gone to the factories in the suburbs, so this place would probably have to burn for a while longer.

During a break, John told the officer about the pistol he had picked up. To his surprise, the officer did not treat it as a big deal. He just nodded and told John to keep it for himself. Following that, John also told him about the mad woman. This time, the officer fell silent.

After a long while, he finally said, “John, this is a war. In a war, we can’t save anyone. We can only save ourselves…”

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