Oliver was an English boy who lived during the period of World War Two. He loved gadgets and machines; he wanted to be an inventor. But on September 7th, 1941, his whole life changed. It was 11pm in England, Oliver was fast asleep when he heard a LOUD Siren. He didn’t know what it meant, but his mother did.

“OLIVER?” She screamed.

“OLIVER!” She shouted again.

“MUM? WHATS GOING ON?” he replied.

“OLIVER, I’LL EXPLAIN AT THE RAID SHELTER. C’MON!”

The two went to the underground raid shelter. Oliver’s mum closed the metal door. BANG
.
“Oliver! Look, this sound is the sound of a bombs siren.” She said.

“BOMBERS!?” Exclaimed Oliver.

“Yes, this sound is an alert of German bombers.”

Oliver went cold. It was like all the happiness in the world went draining down the sewage. There was nothing Oliver hated more than Hitler and the Germans.

 “I know they killed your father but…” Oliver interrupted her.

“ADOLF HITLER KILLED MY FATHER WITH HIS BARE HANDS!”

 Then, they both went to sleep again.

Oliver knew this would happen again, and it did... again and again. The first places that were destroyed were usually the government´s. Every time he felt worse and worse. But he didn’t know that the worst was yet to happen.

On the 19th September, his life changed forever. They were all yelled at to go to their air raid shelters. Even Oliver’s mom was getting sick of it. When they got to their shelters, nobody talked, deep silence took over, they couldn’t even hear the buzzing of a mosquito. Suddenly, it all happened in a split second: the roof broke, everybody fell backwards and there was a ginormous explosion. Oliver felt he broke his two arms and his two legs; he had internal injuries. He went crawling to where his mother was. He looked at her, she looked at him.

“My son.” she said weaker than ever.

“I know I will die quick, but I wanted you to know that …”

“WHY?” he shouted

“I swear that I’ll get revenge mom! “

After that, he passed out. He spent days and weeks passed out. After two weeks unconscious, he woke up. He was in the hospital. He asked the doctor, who was beside him, holding a board to say what day was it. The doctor said it was 3rd October. He didn’t believe it. IT WAS HIS BIRTHDAY!

“Hey doc, today I’m turning 17!”

“Just to inform you, my name is Doctor Tom Quinsee Hart.”

“Can I just call you Tom?”

“No.” He said with a thick voice.

The doctor was clearly interested.

“Actually, if you are turning 17, then this is your college day. A college day is the day you choose the job and college you want to enter.” He babbled.

“Here are the choices as you’ve fractured 20 bones of your body.”

While he read a list of jobs and colleges, Oliver thought:

“I`ve always wanted to be an inventor or a scientist”

After a while, he thought and rethought about his decision. When finally, he told doctor Hart:

“I want to be a UK military air force bomber.”

“And my college will be: The College of Air Force Five Star Association or else called TCOAFFSA.” he gently said.

He knew it was his final decision and that it would not be easy, but revenge was all he wanted. He had to do it for his mom, and, for his dad.

“All right. Then I’ll try to enlist you.” the doctor said patiently.

“Wait, but you need my diploma.” The boy burst.

“Oh, um, I’ve got it.” He said holding a piece of paper that apparently seemed to be Oliver`s diploma. Then, Tom left. TCOAFFSA was the hardest military air force college. Oliver waited days for his letter from TCOAFFSA. On the 29th September it finally came! He was ACCEPTED.

“Hey congrats on your diploma, it was really good!” The doctor exclaimed.

“Thanks.” He said.

“When do I start?” he asked.

“In two days.” the doctor replied. Those two days passed in a blink of an eye. Oliver got up for the first time in weeks. He put on his uniform and went to college. Those were going to be the hardest years of his life. As time passed, Oliver got better and better. He made new friends and met old ones. His new best friend was R.J. Mitchell (designer of the Supermarine Spitfire). Years passed; his life was filled with ups and downs. His favourite teacher was general BUFF. But after five years of college, Oliver graduated from TCOAFFSA. He graduated as a F2 bomber RIO. A F2 bomber RIO is a person that commands the whole F2 guns and switches. An F2 is a phantom plane that can attack and retreat without being seen. It is usually for bombing enemies. It has two places and two positions:

1. A pilot
2. A RIO

 
After five days, Oliver had his first mission. This was what he wanted. He had to bomb Berlin. Just bomb it. After some days he was in the navy ship, standing in front of the F2 bomber plane. On the day 13th January 1945. It was 2 o’clock sharp, and he was ready. Moments later, he was with his old friend, Michell Macormac, flying through Berlin. The bombing point was just 1 mile away, 500 meters, 200 meters, 50 meters. In a blink of an eye, they were in the danger zone - the drop zone. He punched the button REL, which stands for release, and his pilot, also slammed DISP (which the 2 fog propulsors make a huge cloud). They couldn’t be seen. Mission accomplished. As they were heading the ship, 2 air-to-air (ATA) and 2 surface-to- air missiles came right to their direction. The pilot clicked as hard as he could the DISP button, but the 2 propulsors were shot and down.

“Shift.” Oliver said.

They were being chased by 3 German bombers. If they went to the ship, they would lead the enemy right to the other English navy. Suddenly, through a cloud of smoke, 3 attack planes appeared right in front of them! This was a trap! Oliver switched the button RE (retreat) and the 2 operators went down with their parachutes. When they were down, Oliver pulled out his radio.

“A platform! Do you read?”

A screwing sound came along. Michell looked up and shouted:

“HEY Olly, COME SEE THIS, COME SEE THIS!”

At the exact moment he got there, the 6 planes crashed meters above in the sky.

“Well, I think we’re stranded here.” Oliver said.

Michell pointed his .55 calibre pistol up.

“DON’T” Oliver exclaimed.

“If you do that, all German signals will be up on us.”

Oliver’s radio made a creaky noise then said:

“This is plat A do you read FP?”

Oliver felt hope.

“We hear you.”

“What happened to you FP?” The radio burst.

“Shot down by 6 in Berlin. Bombs dropped successfully.” he said.

“I’ve heard.”

“Will you pick us up?”

“OK.”

“We are 35 due East.”

 “KK. In five I’ll be there.”

“Copy that.”

They waited and waited.

After 5 minutes sharp, a chopper came to rescue them. It shot a rope to the floor. Michell and Oliver climbed up. When they got to the ship they spoke to the general.

“Job is 50% done” Oliver said.

“I am promoting Oliver.” The general said.

“WHAT!?” Michell exclaimed.

“If it wasn´t for him, both of you would be dead by now.” The general continued.

“I’ve heard news about your .55 calibre pistol and giving up hope.”

Michell flushed. It was true.

 “Well, back to the point. Oliver will be promoted to a vigilance pilot. You can do that, can’t you Oliver?”

“Sir yes sir. Oh, and by the way, which plane will I ride?”

“The Supermarine Spitfire.”

“Who designed it?” Michell commented.

“Glad you brought that up! It was R. J. Michell. Friend of yours huh Oliver?” The general asked softly.

“YEAH!” he said impressed.

Some days later, he was on England in the front of the beautiful Spitfire.

“I think he should defend by the edges.” The general suggested.

“Agreed.” The rest shouted.

Oliver felt bad for Macormac, but there was no time to think back. He sat on the new plane and started to fly it. He flew through the borders of Britain. Suddenly he saw a German plane, a bomber. He sped towards it, pointing all the guns to it. It zig-zagged, and tried to push Oliver off his tail, but Oliver flew well and so did he. Oliver chose to speed at one thousand kilometres per hour. When he was shooting, the bomber hard and was at his tail, but suddenly, the plane used a short cut which made Oliver crash hard into a rock cage. He and his plane fell into the icy water. He dived and dived, but there was nowhere to reach.
​
After one month without food or supplies, he passed away. They discovered his body one year later in the cave of crystals. Some people still talk about him. We will never forget that legend.
 
 
 
  

Dear Diary,                                                          

This morning, the usual comforting feeling wasn’t in our household; For today my siblings and I will be off to somewhere in Devon. As you know, I, Grace Willer feels that ever since this dreaded war started, life has been absolutely horrible to live and that horrid Hitler whom Winston Churchill is always talking about deserves more than just the beating some children get at school!

After breakfast, James, Sarah and I headed into town with our mother. Our father had to go to war, and he is now missing in action. I sometimes hear mother muttering about him in a worried tone. It’s not just her who is worried; we all are!

We walked down the street past the rubble and stone, and we headed towards the railway station. My little brother James was on the verge of tears, and I knew that as soon as we left the station, he would start bawling at the top of his lungs.

‘I, for the rest of the war, would be responsible for a three-year-old boy and a five-yea-old girl if we are not separated when families choose us. I, aged ten, will have to do my best from this day forward to help and comfort them’ I thought.

We live very close to the railway station, and it only took us five minutes to get there. As we rushed through its gaping doors, I could immediately hear the shrill cries and shouts of wailing children. I noticed that James’ hand was gripping my mother’s even tighter whilst tears were already trickling down Sarah’s cheeks. We only had a few minutes until our train left the station; we rushed through the concourse to the platform, and I could feel my heart beating rapidly in my chest. We arrived at the platform without a minute to spare.  We all gave mother a big hug, said goodbye to her and climbed the steep steps onto the train. Luckily there was a free compartment with the door open, which was right next to where the door was. I opened the window without putting my suitcase down. As the train pulled out of the station, we all reached out of the window with our free hands and waved. I waved the hardest I’ve ever waved. I heard my mother shout “Goodbye Sarah, Goodbye James, Goodbye Grace!”

“Goodbye!” we all chanted!

The train ride felt as if it lasted forever. And my prediction was revealed, James started bawling louder than ever before. I ended up giving him my custard cream as well as his own strawberry tart. I had brought a special notebook and pen to draw with. Sarah loves my notebook, it’s like an archaeologist’s (it’s not my diary)! She was sitting quietly, hankie in hands, wiping away tears. I knew I wouldn’t regret what I was about to do. I reached over to Sarah and gave her my notebook and pen. She smiled and opened the book as if it was an artefact, picked up the pen and wrote: from the best sister ever, Grace. I smiled and patted the seat next to me as an invitation for her to sit with me; she quickly switched seats, and the rest of the journey was rather enjoyable.  With James sleeping with his head on my lap, I taught my sister to draw various animals, and it seemed as if there was no war going on at all. After lunch, both Sarah and James were asleep, their coats on top of them like blankets, they looked so calm, Diary.  When we were almost in Devon, I woke them up and told them to get ready, so we put on our coats and checked the compartment to make sure we hadn’t left anything behind. Within a few minutes, we were ready to go, and we waited another several minutes and then we arrived at a quiet, little station in Devon, Maresville.

The train station was filled with pondering faces; the people were whispering things like “poor dears “or “Look at that little sweetie over there”. The faces seemed strange and different, yet warm and welcoming. We climbed out of the train and walked in a line over to a bus with open door and cheery-faced man with white hair and an even whiter moustache. “Hello Mister“said James smiling.

“Why, you’re a polite little fella, aren’t you, lad.” replied the man. He had a strong accent that I could tell James liked.

“Good evenin’ to you too.“ James beamed even more!

We climbed onto the bus and took the half an hour trip to the centre of the town. We marched into the town hall like soldiers! In the hall, there were two ladies standing on a stage next to benches, one was tall, thin, and her hair was scraped ever so tightly into the neatest little bun I’ve ever seen. The other was short, plump, and seemed much nicer and less strict than the other. The tall lady spoke: “Hello children, these people have come to be your family for the rest of the war, so I recommend you behave well and give them no reason to hate you. Please sit down while you are chosen.” We sat down as the second lady spoke: “I am Jane Smith, and this is Mrs. Blake. You will now be chosen, children.”

I’m very glad we were one of the first to be chosen. We were chosen by Rachel Smith (Mrs. Smith’s sister)! We went to her little cottage in the town with another girl called Lisl Jones; she’s very nice, but I’ll tell you about her in the morning. I’m very sleepy.

Goodnight, Diary.
​
Grace Willer.