1. Taking Shelter


    Date: 9/17/2015, Categories: Historical, Author: ClarkRoberts, Rating: , Source: LushStories

    bombing was astonishing. The physical damage to civilian targets was extensive with much less damage done to the better protected military targets. The Germans recognized this fact and built their strategy around it, calling the air raids Terrorangriff (Terror Attacks). Since December 92% of the bombs dropped on London were incendiaries. Thousands had died in the attacks with thousands more injured. Due to the peril, evacuations from the city had reduced London’s population by almost 25%. Mostly it was children, the elderly, the disabled, pregnant women and of course those that had lost their homes. The bartender turned to me and ordered, “You too, Yank. Your country may not be in this war, but you can still die in it.” “Yeah, yeah,” I huffed as I stood up. All I wanted to was be left alone and eat my supper. I finished chewing the fish in my mouth and picked up a chip from its newspaper wrapping. I popped into my mouth. For a moment, I savored the salty vinegar taste of the hot potato chunk. I chugged the remaining ale in my glass and sat it on the bar. As the bartender swiped it up, I asked, “Where’s the nearest bomb shelter?” “Down the street at the tube station,” he replied not even looking at me. I had only been in London a few days and wasn’t sure the direction of the station so I asked, “Do I go left or right when I walk out the door.” “I’ll show you,” offered the straw-haired woman, holding out her hand. “This way, Yank.” “My name’s Chuck. Chuck Norton, Captain, ...
    United States Marines,” I introduced myself, taking her hand. Following her out the door into the darkness, I asked, “What’s your name?” “I’m Amelia.” In the distance the sharp bark of antiaircraft guns firing up at the raiding planes reverberated. A deeper rumbling followed as the Germans dropped their payloads of death. The ground shook beneath our feet as we hurried down the street. “They’re close,” said Amelia, her voice tinged with fear. “The station’s just around the corner.” Another siren sounded behind us, not the air raid siren which had ceased its wailing. Amelia herded me out of the street just as a fire truck zoomed by us. A fireman vigorously turned the hand-cranked siren as the truck sped through the black-outed streets. “Amelia, are you okay?” I asked, tugging on her hand. She had frozen in place and even in the dark I could see her eyes were wide with fear. With a trembling voice, she said, “I don’t want to die.” "Then we better get the shelter,” I said, pulling on her hand again and this time she let me lead her down the street. The bomb shelter was in a tube station of London’s Underground. Going down the stairs, we found that the station was already crowded. Glancing down the tunnel, I saw a row of bunk beds, three high, along the wall, children occupied most of them. The majority of people just sat on the concrete platform, leaving an aisle of just a couple of feet near the railroad tracks. We finally found a space large enough for us to stand face-to-face. ...
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