My name is John Williams, and I am pilot for the Royal Air Force. It is currently November of 1944. Recently, my squadron has been systematically bombing Berlin. In each of these raids, we have been killing hundreds of civilians, and have also been loosing hundreds of pilots. I don’t know why we do it, even though we have been told a thousand times why. It just doesn’t seem right to kill civilians. I don’t like it, but it is my duty to defend the United Kingdom. I still don’t like it. And I’ve had an experience that nearly changed my mind, but I thought better of it. You’ll never understand completely, but I can give you a small glimpse into my world.

“Anyone whose sole experience of flying is confined to holiday jets has simply no idea of what it was like to fly in a wartime bomber: the numbing cold, with icy winds seeking out the chinks in one’s clothing… the shattering noise, the constant teeth jarring vibration, the turbulence causing the whole airframe to flex and creak; having to wear an oxygen mask which made every breath reek of wet rubber; the cramp which the tight harness made it impossible to relieve…”

-Air Commodore H. I. Cozens (Royal Air Force)

It was like every day: cold and dull. I felt the way I did every day: cold and dull. I got my tea that morning, and the tea was like it was every morning: cold and dull. You can already tell how exciting my life must be (I don’t get out of the base much; without a plane, that is). It was my squadron’s shift for Berlin. I was a bit nervous, because pilots die every time we send them over there. Not all the pilots, but I don’t remember a single time when all the planes we sent off came back. It may have happened, but I never saw it. I just wanted to get my turn over with, and without being one of the pilots shot down, and not knowing any of the pilots that get shot down. So I just got in my plane. My crew and I set off to bomb Berlin at 2:15 that morning.

Because I’m a pilot, I don’t have to worry about seeing the people, but I still know they’re there. You can always tell when you’re killing someone, even if you aren’t looking at them. That’s how it was. I knew that when I was flying my plane over that city, that people were dying. Innocent people. But it helped the war, so it was a necessary sacrifice.

The cold was piercing through my jacket, and my hands were numb from the freezing wind. Bullets tore through the planes in my squadron like bees, taking out ten planes. We circled around to return, and dropped some more bombs on Berlin as we passed over it again. Maybe that was where we went wrong, because the bullets shredded our plane to pieces as we passed the city.

A hail of fire tore the cockpit apart from the plane. I was looking all around me, but all I could see was smoke. In the cockpit, out the window, everywhere. I could barely hear the shouts of my crew, and I couldn’t see James, my co-pilot, anywhere. I tried pulling up, but saw a rain of flames beating against the windows, so I stalled and fell, looking up the whole time. I could see the wings of another plane in front of me, and a ball of fire surrounding it. We pulled out just in time, and the plane fell inches from ours! I tried looping around and getting my bearings, but it was too late for recovery. I could see that we were going to crash somewhere, so tried gliding away.

“I’ve been hit! We’re heading north, northeast from Berlin. We can’t make it home! God!”

A blast came from the tail, and sent us flipping towards the sky, heading for an open field. I was pressed up against the window, and could see only a spinning world of clouds and grass. I fell onto the floor and saw that the cockpit was now freely flying through the air, and that the rest of the plane was completely gone! I grabbed a parachute from the seat, and just jumped up into the sky. As the parachute deployed, I looked down and saw James holding on to my leg. His face was bloody and his hand was missing some fingers. His hand slowly slipped down my pant leg, and he dropped down to the green mass below us.

I don’t know how long I was in the air, but it seemed like hours. I know it was only a few minutes, but I never would have been able to tell. When I hit the ground, I was only a ways away from a forest. The trees were dark and ominous, but I had no choice but to enter.

I walked for the rest of the day, and slept all night long. When I awoke, it was noon and I was so incredibly hungry. Living off the land is not as easy as they make it seem. There are hundreds of edible plants in the forest, I know. But I am also aware that there are hundreds of inedible plants that may be poisonous. When in this situation, I sincerely didn’t care. I would die of starvation if I didn’t eat and stayed in the forest. I would die of poison if I ate the wrong thing. I would get shot if I left the forest as hungry and unalert as I was. It was obvious it would take a small miracle to let me live to see my home again. That cold, dull coffee didn’t seem too bad now. But apparently, I didn’t choose wrong when I grabbed a berry off a bush. If it worked for a bird, it would work for me.

That night, I left the forest to find real refuge. I continued heading north. I knew that there were probably some rural areas in that direction. There were no houses, no farms, no people. Miles of no one. This was not what I expected to see. After a large hill, there was a sort of prison camp. I wasn’t sure what it was, I had never seen anything like it before. The people there looked like skeletons. I didn’t know what this was about, but it was not right for it to be happening. The stench of burning flesh filled the air near the barbed wire fences. That is the smell I will never forget, I almost vomited when I got to the barbed wire. If it had not been dark, I surely would have been shot. They never knew I was there, right below them. I wasn’t sure what I should do. Could I free these people? Were they dangerous prisoners? What could happen? I didn’t know, but I just went.

I cut the lowest strand of barbed wire and dug a hole so I could go under easily. There was still the stench in the air. The guards never noticed me as I slipped through the shadows. A guard walked past the building I was crouched next to, so I drew my pistol and placed it against the back of his head. In his ear, I whispered, “You can live if you come with me and tell me what is going on here.”

He lowered his head and walked behind one of the barracks. I followed him. We sat and talked for a while, but his unforgiving face never changed. “The Jews are the lowest of society. They deserve to be exterminated, all of them. The gays, the impure blooded. None of them deserve to live and ruin this perfect place.” I got his story to slightly change to, “I do what my superiors tell me to do. I would get shot if I didn’t, and it wouldn’t save anyone. If I didn’t kill them, someone else would.”

He seemed brainwashed. “I do what I’m told.” How could someone ever be so mindless? I told him that I understood, and I was doing what I was told. I told him that I was doing what God told me to do, and that that was the only order I would take. He said that God didn’t want the impure on this earth anymore, and that the Crusades were no different. I had to give in. He was a little sympathetic with me, and handcuffed me before bringing me to his supervisor.

I saw evil in that office. Nothing less than pure evil. It was full of it. Nothing more than and nothing less. The guard that brought me in saved me, no doubts about it. His name was Till Lindemann. He told them that I was stranded out in the forest and that I had only broken into the camp because I thought it was a farmer’s fence. He defended me and allowed me to stay with the prisoners. And stay as a prisoner I did. They told me that I could be transferred later, but Till clarified to me that they could not let me go because of what I had seen.

The living conditions were horrible. There were maybe fifty people in one building, probably more. The buildings were made for about twenty. I was starved nearly to death. We had water with weeds in it as soup. We had a bit of bread every day. It was nowhere near enough to eat. I don’t know how they all slept. For what seemed years, I stayed there. In the beds full of lice. Surrounded with people who were being killed every day. Practically rotting away before they were even dead. They never tried to kill me. I got treated better than all the other prisoners, but I was still near death after only a few weeks. I don’t know how I lived for so long, but I did. They told us no news of the outside world, I didn’t know what day it was, how the war was going, or even if my country still stood. For sure I knew that no one knew about this camp.

I asked one guard if I was being treated the same as all the other POWs a couple of days after being put in the camp. I was half kidding, but he wasn’t. He told me that if it were up to him, he’d shoot me and get it over with. I told him that I was bad enough of a pilot that releasing me and letting me start flying again would help them with the war more than killing me would. I actually got him to laugh at that one. Then I knew what I had to do to stay alive. I just kept getting on the guard’s good sides. I made friends. They didn’t enforce many rules on me, and I was able to bring bits of extra bread to the prisoners. I had my military uniform and my leather jacket. I was much better off than the real prisoners here. They barely had clothes, most of which was given to them from someone who had just been killed. The Nazis lived like royalty, and ruled like it too. I was like a jester, I was a peasant just like the Jews, but at least I had the favor of the nobles. But not the king, no, he hated me. Despised me. He understood that I killed his people. I bombed Berlin many times. I was supposed to kill them. But I was Royal Air Force, not infantry. They looked up to me as a soldier, and as a person. Soldiers respect pilots. Everywhere, everyone, pilots are looked up to. Even in Hell, where I was. Maybe God had a sense of humor for putting me through this. Or maybe Satan had a sense of humor for sparing me. Many Jews told me that God was even here, in this concentration camp. I wasn’t sure weather or not to believe that then. But I still prayed at every meal; sometimes my meals were with the prisoners, and sometimes I ate with the guards. I was faithful always.

I felt an uptightness around the Nazis after having been there for what seemed forever. They wouldn’t tell me what was going on, they said it not for me to know. But I could sense a lot of tension. There would be ten or twenty letters coming in at once, then they would go months without anything. I saw three guards standing and talking to the Captain. All of a sudden, they looked up at him suddenly and then looked at each other. They seemed to give pleading looks at him, but said nothing. The three glanced back at me, and the Captain stared straight into my eyes. He said nothing to me, but I could hear everything that wasn’t said. I knew what was coming. Then Till walked over to me. He put his hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes. “Come with me, we’re gathering up eighty for the gas chamber. I thought you might want to know before you’re in it. Not that you’ll be any difficulty, right? John, I’m sorry. You’re not going to see the end of this. I have something to tell you, so go in last. Okay?”

We put as many of the prisoners in the chamber as we could. I stood by the door and Till leaned towards me. He whispered in my ear, “It’s over. The war, it’s over. Germany has lost. I hope that I may repent for the sins I have committed here, and I can see you again. Goodbye, John.”

I stood there starring at the closed door. I couldn’t believe it! Over! It was over! And here I was dying for a war that was finished! NO! I couldn’t stop the explosion, I just started pounding against the door and screaming! Tears streamed down my face, and I sank to my knees.

I wondered why the cyanide wasn’t coming into the chambers, then I found out. There were gunshots on the surface. Blood seeped under the door, then it opened. The Americans were here, and the American soldier at the door reached his hand out to me, he looked like an angel coming to save us all. Behind him, I saw an even more amazing scene: Till was standing with his hands in the air, and the Americans weren’t shooting him. The American asked me, “What’s an R.A.F. pilot doing here?”

I replied, “I got shot down while we were bombing Berlin. I made two rounds, got shot down on the second.”

He looked at me startled and replied, “The Royal Air Force stopped bombing Berlin over a year ago!”