Manfred

• Chelsea Hindle, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2018

When he painted his plane scarlet, he became a national icon, a hero. He became an idol when the enemy turned and fled at a glimpse of his blood-tinted plane.
When he saluted the Kaiser, the people cheered for him. When he smiled at the journalists, the people adored him. When he fought, even his enemies respected him. They vied for the chance to boast that they had fought the Red Baron and survived.
To the rest of the country, he was a hero, but to me he was just Manfred. He was the boy who wanted to join the cavalry, become a captain and lead his men to battle on a stallion. He and Lothar had played at war for hours as boys. How could they know that only a decade on, the two of them would fight—and die—in a real war?
The declaration of war found Manfred in the cavalry. He had become a Captain and achieved his dreams, but he was not happy. He had turned his gaze to the sky and the machines that now flew there.
I watched Manfred become a sky-bound killer. He hunted at the head of a pack of painted wolves, showing his enemies little mercy. He was ruthless, cruel, and it hurt me to see him like that. No longer was he a childish soldier in a make-believe battle, now he was a man in an all-too real war. His enemies saw him as the personification of Death. But I saw him as a man—as a boy.
When the young man knocked at my door, I knew that someone had dared to try themselves against the Red Baron…and had won.
When Germany mourned, no one ever saw the tears of one woman. The woman who was the only one to ever know and love the Red Baron.
The woman who was his mother.