Set in one of the world wars. Inspired by the picture of the boy with a shackle around his ankle in the cover of the song done by Juby Phonic. The setting was partially inspired by her words "hate me and despise me when I haven't done a thing".
This is the first of two different stories I wrote out, both of them inspired by the same thing above. Whichever one you like best, I'll continue.
For this one, when people are talking, they are speaking German unless it specifically says they are talking in English. This is probably totally historically inaccurate, by the way, in a bunch of ways.
Gunfire shot up in the sky, and an explosion lit up the night with it. A plume of smoke could be seen trailing behind an airplane that was now falling towards the earth. It had been hit.
The ground troops swarmed towards the area where it would land. It had been the last plane to stay flying, and it was the last one that still needed to have its occupant killed. Maybe their general would even let them draw out the death in revenge for how long it had taken.
This was not to be for both of its occupants, only one was killed immediately. The general must have guessed at his soldiers intentions, it had been his gun to give the shot to the man's head inside. The other occupant of the vehicle had been found behind the seat, cowering.
"They are letting little children fight for them now? The cowards." The man who had hold of the boy's arm said while shaking him. The child was frightened. He gulped loudly, and shook with fear. The general guessed that he had gone into shock.
"No," the general said. "I doubt that's it."
"Boy," he said now in English. "Was that your father?"
The child nodded, his golden curls bouncing around his head. One of the curls stuck out from the rest in front of the boy's face, even when the child tried to push it back behind his ears it sprang back to its former position. It was cute. The general made a decision in that moment that spared the child's life.
"It would be dishonourable to kill him." He said talking to his soldiers again. "You," he signaled out a single soldier from the mass grouped around him. It was the youngest soldier in the group, he was their weakest link anyways. This would get him out of the way. Two birds with one stone. "I want you to take this boy back to my tent, and make sure he stays there. My son, Ludwig, has seemed lonely for the past while, and he needs a playmate. This child will suffice. Make sure he comes to no harm along the way. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Good." The general turned towards the child again. "Your name?" He asked in English.
"Mathew." The boy sniffled, then finally started crying.
The soldier that was to guard him went up and gently took his hand and started to pull him away from the wreckage of the plane.
"How could someone bring their child onto the battlefield like that?" One of his men asked.
"He didn't mean to. The child likely snuck on before his father got in so he could stay with him. He probably stayed hidden the entire time so his dad wouldn't turn back and leave him...does anyone know what the nationality of the nearest enemy base is? That's where he," He glanced at the body of the man in the plane. "That's where they would have come from."
"American I think, no wait. They are Canadians. About a dozen fighter pilots that were sent out here a few days ago as far as I could tell from the radio I heard was intercepted." It was one of the youngest there, he hadn't been there long. How he managed to find that information out the general had no idea, but it was good to know.
"Alright, I'll remember that. Thank you. Now, everyone, fan out. We need to get back to base camp. If you step on a mine, it's your own fault, and you'd be stupid for doing it. Move out."