My name is William Faust, I'm one of the engineers on the Haunebu II Factory number 15B. I can't remember much and I honestly don't want to but I have a feeling writing this down may help with my situation. Where to start? God...well, it was a less then standard mission, the Americans were pounding our bases with constant bombing raids, the damn problem is that they're using those B-29 Superfortresses and most of our anti air guns can't hit them so that's why we're being sent up, we're some of the only aircrafts that can remotely try and attack them. Speaking of aircraft, I don't know why I'd call the Haunebu that, it resembles more of a saucer plate then those twisty fighters. Now our crew was expecting to just be on the compact little Haunebu I but that changed, you see with these bombers we need firepower which the little boys don't have so We're using the new Haunebu II. With it's 4 turrets we might just be able to take down these "dragons" as Schroeder calls them, Oh! I almost forgot to tell you about our crew.

The Haunebu is like a U-Boat in the sky, Tight corridors with a relatively large crew, Our Flight Lieutenant was Frans Becker, He was a short man, around 5'4 maybe, perfect for these cramped hallways and corridors. He usually had a scruffy beard with sideburns but he shaved that morning, revealing the strong pale chin underneath. His hair on top was thinning but he hid that with his flight cap and had a few patches of grey hairs near his ears. Our Senior Engineer was Kurt Hoch, He was an old war dog, served in World War One servicing and repairing the Albatrosses and Triplanes, He said that he even repaired Manfred Von Richthofen's Albatross Biplane. Though he didn't seem to be the biggest fan of the Nazis, He did re-enlist into the Luftwaffe in 1939. He was stocky with a thick grey walrus mustache and mutton chops, He tended to wear a few of his medals from when he was in action, mainly his Iron Cross which he earned after dragging a downed German pilot out of their mangled plane and carrying them back to base. Our third engineer was Wilhelm Schroeder, Me and Him went to primary school together and sometimes we'd switch seats to mess with the teacher since our names were so similar, William and Wilhelm. Schroeder was a fine young man, about a month my junior so we tended to have birthday celebrations around the same time, even though life was tough. Schroeder was always a bit crazy, he liked to hunt but not for food, just for sport which I wasn't the biggest fan of. Schroeder thankfully stopped this when we both entered The Luftwaffe. Our lead pilot was Peter Muller, He wasn't one who talked much at any time other than work. Peter wore round rim glasses but tended to stick in contact lenses during missions. He was tall and thin and an amazing pilot, especially with the Haunebu, able to dodge even the fastest blazing guns. Thomas Richter was our lead gunner, commanding the three other men that accompanied him while in combat. Thomas was stocky middle aged man who had been a gunner on a Heinekel HE-111 during the bombing campaign over England so he definitely had experience in his field. Our second gunner and a man who technically outranks the man who bosses him around, Oberfeldwebel Herman Kertfield was a bright chipper man around his late 20s. Kertfeld had flown as a gunner in a Junkers Ju 87b Stuka during the Blitzkrieg in France. Herman and Thomas actually tend to get along well, both having been gunners on bombers. The rest of the crew was made up of mainly lower ranking crewmen that made up the pilots and spotters. I have some other engineers that work with me as well though I haven't gotten to know them much, the reason will be revealed soon.

We had taken off from Trier Air Base, crammed into the confines of the Haunebu like sardines. The jet engines were running hot, causing us all to sweat, especially us engineers who were stuffed inside the deep and tight maintenance corridors, surrounded by rumbling fuel pipes. I had gotten out from the corridor to go and grab a cup of coffee, it wasn't best as it was just the instant kind the Luftwaffe supplied with powdered milk for creamer. Thomas was also there, sitting in the cafeteria, sweat covering his brow. It was obvious the heat was already getting to him which wasn't a good sign especially for a man with as short a temper as him. Finishing the bitter black liquid, I washed out the cup and turned back to see that Thomas had left, probably going back to the gunner's quarters. I climbed the ladder back down into the maintenance corridor, the only illumination being the red lights, and all sounds being nearly covered by the thundering sound of the engines and constant flow of fuel through the thin steel pipes. My mind had become numb to this disturbing atmosphere as I worked. Rounding a corner I saw a small paper on the floor, picking it up I found that it was a letter addressed to Thomas, "What is this doing down here? Richter never lets these things out of his sight. Unless he was down here..." I shook the thought out of my head and went to take the note back to Thomas, there was no way he was down here, he's not permitted to. As I walked back down the tunnel I heard what sounded like a struggle above me, rushing up to see what was happening, I climbed the ladder to find Thomas beating Hoch down, as I tried to pull him off, I was punched in the side of the head, blacking out soon after I hit the warm steel floor.

I awoke in a daze, making out the shapes of the other crewmen and the ones holding us at gunpoint, Wilhelm and Thomas. The two accused us of being British spies, the others desperately denying the accusations as they held their hands up in pleading, Becker even demanding the two to stop this nonsense as he was their commanding officer. An argument sparked up as Becker started yelling at the two, Thomas raising his Luger to fire at the Lieutenant. Before he could fire though, the Haunebu shook suddenly and trembled like a leaf in the wind, we had been engaged by B-29s and Mustangs. The tremor caused Thomas to fire on accident, the nine millimeter round hitting a fuel pipe, causing the aromatic liquid the spew from the rupture, covering the floor in the substance. Thomas went to go defend the Haunebu, leaving Wilhelm to watch us, aiming his Walther P38 at us, the glossy black slide shimmering in the red alarm lights. "Wilhelm, we've known each other for years! Why would I be a spy!?" I asked, my voice cracking from the panic, he methodically aimed the pistol at me and narrowed his eyes, "Really? When's my birthday?" He asked, "May 19th! Your birthday is May 19th!" I answered, "What school did we first meet at?" He asked, I paused, trying to remember, "Frie Elementary. 3rd grade." I answered. His grip on the trigger was loosening, "Alright, What was my nickname..?" He asked, "Sparky...Your nickname was Sparky. You accidentally lit your hair on fire while lighting a candle, you held it too close to your face." I answered, "Not a spy after all.." I heard him mumble under his breath, he aimed the firearm at Herman, studying him like a cryptogram, "Kertfield..You've been awfully quiet. Speak up." He said, Peter gulped, "I'm just trying to avoid trouble alright? I'm not a spy." He said, his short and narrow figure looking near paper thin from the side. Schroeder stepped closer, "Not a spy? Give me a reason why you aren't." He said, pointing the muzzle of the gun at Herman's face, "I've been in the Luftwaffe for years! Ever since we invaded France." He answered, "Thomas did say you flew on a Stuka. A little strange. Why would you leave the Stuka to work on a cramped Haunebu...unless you were trying to get information on it." He said, his eyes narrowed like a snake's. "I was stationed here after my airbase was attacked and my Stuka was destroyed." The air was heavy, maybe it was the fumes from the fuel or the tension but Herman grabbed the pistol, pulling it to a side as Wilhelm fired, the screaming hot bullet grazing Herman's side. I mustered up my strength and tackled Schroeder, the pistol getting knocked from his hand, punching him across the face a couple times, Wilhelm caught my fist and punched me in the stomach, Becker grabbed the gun and aimed at Wilhelm, "You were my friend Wilhelm!! Why did you have to do this!?" I cried as I punched him square in the jaw, before he could answer, a shot was heard, a bullet grazing my arm and hitting Schroeder in the chest. Wilhelm gave up his attempts at fighting, the pain paralyzing him. I held his head up, "No..no no no..Wilhelm stay with me." I panicked, his hand gripped mine as he gave one of his trademark smiles, "Will...I've been an idiot today haven't I...?" He chuckled, coughing a bit, "I guess the stress of work just got to me.." He added, his eyes slowly struggling to stay open, "William...I want you to know that...you're my best friend.." His voice gave out as he went limp, the light in his eyes fading. I laid him down as another tremor shook the Haunebu, "We need to get Peter and tell him to evacuate, this bird has flown her last." Becker said, opening the door into the outside corridor.

As we made our way through the rumbling corridors, we grabbed the parachutes from the nearby rack as me and Herman opened the door to the cockpit, seeing Peter wrestling with the stick as he tried to swerve between the gunfire. "Peter! We need to evacuate, this ship is done!" I said, seeing the two other pilots dead in their seats, the spectacled man gave a foreboding sigh, "I'm afraid you might be right, Faust." He said, "I'll set to hover, that should give us some time before those engines blow." He added, flipping some of the levers on the complicated pilot board. Getting up from his seat, Herman handed him a parachute before we made our way back to the exit door. We arrived and met Becker, who nodded in assurance as he readied the door, but just as he grabbed the handle, he was tackled by Thomas. The two struggling on the ground, Richter landing a few blows on Becker's face and getting a head butt in return, Becker struggling on the ground, trying to get ahold of Thomas's throat. A monstrous boom was heard from one of the rooms, it was clear the fuel covered room had been lit aflame by a stray spark and the fire was licking the metal door, it's long slender flames jutting out from beneath the door, almost like they were they claws of a beast. As Becker gained the upper hand, Thomas succumbed to the strangulation, his eyes rolling back as he breathed his final breath. Becker stood up opening the door and motioning us out, Herman jumping first, Peter second and before I jumped, I looked him in the eyes, those brown eyes that were full of determination, The flames bursting from the door and crawling towards us like a ravenous spider, hungry for it's next meal. I jumped and as I looked back, the exit door burst out in dark red and orange flame, it was clear the Becker had gone down with his ship.

As I plummeted towards the ground, gunfire and engines screaming around me, I closed my eyes in cold contemplation at the events that had transpired on the Haunebu II, friends lost. The darkness that my eyelids provided seemed like the perfect paradise, far away from the maelstrom of death and destruction of this ghastly war. I was shaken from this when Peter shouted, "Parachutes! Now!" I grabbed the cord and pulled it harshly, the fabric chute expanding above me, my body floating down towards the ground. Once we landed, we started walking, I had to support Herman do to his daze from blood loss. We limped through the forest for what seemed like days before we were captured by an American armor unit. Herman was given medical aid and we were passed up the line, eventually ending up in a camp in the British isles, soon enough we were released, I didn't go back to Germany, I wanted to leave my past pain there where it rests in the skies. Sometimes I'll hear that familiar engine sound above my head but when I look up to the heavens, nothing appears, it's almost as if it's a phantom, constantly haunting me.

The date today is The 10th of June, 1963 and I have received letters from two familiar names, Peter Muller and Herman Kertfield. We met up, hugged each other, exchanged remarks and drank as well as lament that day that happened so long ago.

(The End.)