War Hero

• Alexander Maxwell, Grade 5
• Short Story
• 2017

It was dark outside. Nearly pitch Black. I was at the co-pilots seat, helping the pilot. We were trying to drop some bombs on the enemy’s camp. We managed to drop all of them, blowing the hangar to smithereens.
Sixty planes had flown out of the hangar (The good guy’s hangar), now there were ten left. At least they had destroyed a lot. Our plane was beginning to get dented, but it still held together.
A heavy rain of bullets landed on the canopy, making hail noises. The sound waves echoed around the plane. A few more planes were shot down, and there were still seven Lancasters in the air. Then all of a sudden, a random plane came out of nowhere and blasted our left engine. It started flaming. Someone had to go out there with a fire extinguisher. Who would?
“You! Co-pilot! You’re going to go out there with a fire extinguisher. We’ll attach a parachute to your back and hold the strings.” What!? Now they want me to go out there?! That’s crazy! “We don’t have all day ya know!! Get out there NOW!” ‘Goodbye dear life!’ I thought in my head.
I looked out the slowly opening hatch. Soon I would be on the wing wobbling over the 8000 feet drop. I reckon I should go with death.” Are you going or not, mister!?” *sigh*. At least I would save the plane. I took a deep breath in. Slowly wobbling onto the wing, wind whipping my face, I made my way over to the flaming engine. I felt for the pin on the fire extinguisher, as it was too dark to see. My index and middle finger wrapped around the pin and pulled it out. I now felt for the trigger. I pressed it down. The white, frothy mist came out of the long black tube, putting out most of the fire. I stepped on the remaining flames. I did it! And I didn’t get killed during the process!
I turned around, and that’s when it hit me. A bullet had pierced right through my leg. The pain slowly crept up my leg, into my chest and into my brain. I slipped off the wing edge. My crewmates let go of the string. I fell.
The soft snow crunched under my feet as I limped to the medical tent. When I fell off the plane, I had landed quite close to the base. I entered the tent. When I entered, everyone stared at me. Then one nurse came over and asked who I was. I told her my name, and she gasped. “You’re-you’re the young bloke who put out the fire on the engine on Lancaster 52?” “Uh...yeah?” “But the pilot said you were dead!” “No, the bullet hit me in the shin and could you kindly bandage my leg before I bleed to death?” While lying in the medical bed, everyone was cheering for me. It was pleasant being a war hero.