The BF 109 catches your eye in the sky, blazing in a trail of fury and flame over your father's small farm. It's horrifying, the ball of metal crashing and colliding with the soil, immediately making the sound of a bomb as it collides.

"Och-" from the wreckage, a bloodied, limp figure in a brown coat, goggles cracked and askew and fiery orange hair falling around a face caked with mud and dirt. "Please, anybody?" He's made it out miraculously, this young man tries to stand, leg wobbling. "Somebody? Ay, please, Oi' need help." He groans, hitting the dirt and crawling. "Mam, pa..." He whimpers.