Shh. Their coming. The Nazi's are coming. Phew, they've walked past. Oh no, they've heard me, their lifting up the tin, I'm lying under. Their lifting me up and dragging me away. I'm going to start screaming. Block your ears.

This is typical of the Nazi's to drag a young kid away. It's what they were paid for. They hated young, squirmy kids, who would dob in on them.

This was just practice.

~

World War Two.

The hot, steamy air, penatrated young James Martin's face. He couldn't take it anymore. He screamed, alerting the enemy at once. Gun fire opened up, bullets flying everywhere. James Marting crawled to his base. He stood up, once he was safely in his tent. He frowned, feeling sick. Throwing up, he collapsed.

You may ask me to write more if you like it.

He woke up, feeling exhausted. He started crying. A nurse came over to him. "What's wrong?" She asked. "I feel, sick." James gasped, throwing up more. "We need to move you to a hospital ship, right away, James!" She told him, concern in her eyes. She picked the young boy up, and placed him on a strecher.