/World War Two AU. Matthew Williams is a seemingly normal young Canadian with a far from normal background- one that is partially kept a secret from him. Against his Aunt Anastasia's wishes, Matthew becomes a pilot for the Canadian Air Force only six months after the war starts, for reasons that are far more dark, dangerous, and complex than he says they are. Matthew will soon learn everything that has been hidden from him, including information on his mother who passed away on a vacation to France, but, like everything in war, it comes with a price and a few consequences. And one of those consequences comes in the form of an "awesome" German pilot named Gilbert Beilschmidt./
What You Don't Know
One story: Many voices
By: The Ones Left Behind
Hallo. Schön, Sie zu treffen.
Yes, I'm German. (Well, I actually consider myself Prussian, but that's not what's important at the moment.)
Yes, I was a German pilot during World War II. No, I will not disclose my name. Call me Great Frederick, or Fritz for short, after King Frederick II of Prussia.
Yes, this story will be in third person, besides my occasional notes. Why?
Because this memoir isn't about me. (Well, it mostly isn't.)
This is the story of a man named Birdie, a brilliant pilot in the Canadian Air Force during World War II, and how I fell in love with him. A man. The enemy.
I know. It's crazy. Not only did I fall in love with someone of my same gender, but with someone on the opposing side of war.
Fuck, I'm already crying.
You've probably never heard of him, which is sad, because he's one of the most brave, compassionate, strong, intelligent, and remarkable people I've ever known. He's pretty awesome too. He saved hundreds of lives and is responsible for so much that he will never be honoured or awarded for because his name cannot be disclosed. (Yes, I was lying when I said that his name was Birdie, just in case you didn't know. That was the nickname I called him.) All of the names in this book have been changed for privacy purposes.
Damn privacy purposes.
The best I can do is write this book and let everyone know what this man has done, even if no one will never know his name, and he'll probably won't make it into the history textbooks of the future.
It's okay though because you don't need to know a name to know someone. To learn their experiences and understand them.
Names don't matter. That's something I've learned multiple times throughout this chapter of my life, and something you'll learn once you finish reading this if you haven't already.
Now before you read this book, it is best to know that this isn't going to be your typical love story. This isn't some happy fairytale to read to your little children as they are bundled in their beds about to sleep. No wizards. No potions. No castles. No magical true love's kiss. No mystical creatures. No riddling trolls (unless you count that prissy Austrian bastard. Him and that Brit are such fuddy-duddies). No witches (unless you count gender confused frying pan chick, but she kinda saved my life once so I probably shouldn't say that, right? I would say that she fits under the "badass warrior" category with Birdie, but she's in love with that prissy Austrian piano dude and it's so unawesome.)
The only princesses in this will be a dramatic sassy Polish (wo?)man, a sarcastic British spy, and a long-haired Frenchman with an unshaved stubble. The only magic will be the delusions of the said sarcastic British spy when he's drunk. The only miracle will be that Birdie didn't kill me, especially after my terrible puns.
The only faraway lands will be foreign countries, battlegrounds, and cities blown unrecognisable. The only carriages are the wheeled gernies and hospital beds that escort dead bodies. The only glass slippers left behind are the contents of this book, an unreadable pancake recipe, a burnt stuffed bear, a couple of bruises, and something other than a glass slipper that has shattered. The only flying horses will be metal fighting planes that get their wings blown off and crash to the ground in a pile of blood and smoke and orange and red and black.
And the only knight in shining armour will be the awesome me.
Okay, the only actual knight in shining armour of this story is Sir Birdie. I would never say that if he was still alive though. (Oh yeah, did I mention that the love of my life is dead? Well now you know.)
Yeah, spoiler alert! This book contains no "happily ever afters".
(Is this whole book going to be a rollercoaster of inside jokes and pure darkness and tragedy? No. Of course not. It will also include puns. Duh.)
Okay, so I suppose that this is a sort of fairytale, but a very dark, twisted, and screwed up one, just like how fairytales originally were. Did you know that the little mermaid killed herself in the original by Hans Christian Anderson?
Let me try to reword this. This memoir of Birdie's life will not be sugarcoated with lies or morphed to cradle your fragile feelings. This is going to be honest. This is going to be painful. This is going to be difficult. (It'll also be pretty awesome though.)
This is going to be a journey.
I'll be here the whole way through though, with a plate of pancakes and a stuffed bear for you. I'll even give you a hug through the pages. Why? Because I know what it's like. I experienced it in real life and I understand what it will be like to read this.
The words on these pages will make you think. It will challenge your beliefs. It will make you laugh, cringe, smile, melt, scream, and cry.
Well, at least, that's what writing this book has made me do. It's what Birdie made me do.
You're probably wondering, "How did you write this book if Birdie's dead?"
That brings me to another important fact. This book isn't just written by me. These are the words of the dozens of different people who knew Birdie, including Birdie himself. This also is just one book of a series about these real life experiences, all written by us- those who were left behind. The whole series is on those we knew who were lost, all interlaced and connected into one single story.
We collected journal entries, records, letters, and notes. We interviewed every little person that came in contact with them. We shared stories. We wrote. And I was in charge of piecing Birdie's story together- dozens of voices. One story.
Welcome to What You Don't Know.