The seat I sat in was unbearably uncomfortable. I wiggled back and forth to try to find the right position that’d help but to no avail. My class had 30 minutes left until it was over and could go home. Luckily I enjoyed this class though my classmates did not. Professor Johnson continued with his lecture in front of the class as bored students sat in their chairs. Professor Johnson hadn’t taught here very long but was liked by many. His knowledge in history and experience in teaching around the country had given him a lot of knowledge about the real world. His thin tall framed figure sat straight up at his desk reciting passages from our history book. “The invasion of France began on May 10th in 1940, outnumbered by German soldiers, no French Military resistance and surely outgunned the French people banded together to resist the occupation. The Germans did conquer France but the people fought and eventually with help of the allies forced the Germans out”. He looked at all of us trying to get some type of response as he continued the lecture with a slide show of images he had made depicting the Invasion of France. Sadly he couldn’t get a response but continued his lecture which would have fallen on deaf ears if not for me. The photos consisted of young teenagers, even pre-teens holding weapons that once belonged to the French Military. There were even pictures of old farmers holding hunting guns fighting in the streets all over France. The Lecture was on the Invasion of France by the Germans but something seemed strange. I felt the relation between me and those young men and women fighting for their life and country. They were not much older than me and my classmates but they were real patriots and heroes of their country.
Windows shattered and the ground rattled like an earthquake. What was that? I yelled as the other students lurched from their slumber. Mr. Johnson stood up from his seat abruptly and told us to stay seated. He quickly made his way to the window looking out and instantly pulled his head back. Thick as fog and black as coal smoke began to pour in through the broken windows. The smell of burnt plastic filled my nose. Everyone panicked in the classroom but we listened to the professor’s orders to stay seated. Glass lay across the floor and some of my fellow students were lightly cut by some of the glass shrapnel. One classmate looked to be bleeding from a cut to the forehead but seemed OK otherwise. No one knew what had happened but we all knew it wasn’t good.
An alarm rang out across the speakers across the college telling us to evacuate. As soon as we heard the word evacuate we knew this was serious. Within in a minute the class was outside in front of the school overlooking the parking lot. The sound of buzzing like bees started to fill the air. It grew louder and louder but I couldn’t make sight of anything coming. A fellow classmate put his finger to the horizon pointing to something. We all looked and spotted what was generating the sound. It was a fleet of jets. I followed the professor as well as did the class, taking cover in between the cars of the parking lot. The buzzing became louder and soon we saw the planes above us. They were spaced out across the sky. I counted rows of 10 planes wide and the wave seemed to last a solid minutes before the last plane passed over us. We all stayed still, trying to stay calm as the planes roared across the sky. Within a few seconds after the last plane passed us we heard loud explosions thundering out. The ground shook as explosion after explosion demolished the city. I looked for someone to lead us to safety.
I noticed my Professor leading some students towards the road, yelling something but I couldn’t make out what. I decided to follow my classmates down the road which was packed full of traffic. Cars stood still as angry drivers beeped their horns in frustration and fear. We scurried behind Professor Johnson down the road for what seemed like forever. Smoke stacks formed on the outskirts of town as fires began to form making the air hard to breath. The roads were packed with vehicle like sardines in a can and there was no space to get around so drivers began to exit their vehicles, joining the pack on the run to cover. Where are we going? What is going on? Why this happening was all I could think about as I ran for safety. It had only taken a few minutes until we reached our destination. It wasn’t the place I expected to seek cover but it’d do. Mr. Johnson pulled a multi tool of his pocket. He flipped open an miniature pry bar type attachment and began to try to pry open a man hole cover. My classmates all began to look at each other and ask questions like “What is he doing?”, Does he expect us to go down there?”, but I knew the professor’s plan: We would take cover underground. As the manhole cover popped off, my professor began to usher us down the ladder into the man hole. As we began to make our way down into the tunnel the humbling of planes began to spring back to my ears. The thick rumbling of planes of war grew louder as the last student scurried down the ladder. I was that last student on the ladder catching the last glimpse of the outside world. Seconds later the ground was rocked like an earthquake had erupted creating a sound that blew my eardrums. The first explosion shocked me and I fell down from the ladder onto the bottom dirty dank tunnel. Liquids splashed around my body covering my fellow students in filthy putrid water. My head hit first knocking me unconscious as students tried to wake me up but to no avail. Staying conscious for just a few seconds, I saw my professor standing over me trying to give me aid but everything went dark and the ground continued to vibrate.
I heard my name being called by a familiar voice. My vision was blurry but I could make the outline of thick glasses on a bearded face, it was Mr. Johnson. Feeling a warm hand on my shoulder I didn’t understand what had happened. “Don’t speak, they’re all-around,” he whispered to me in a low tone. ‘What’s all around us?’ I thought, and then I heard it. Voices seemed to becoming from above us. Accents that weren’t common, a different language surely that sounded a lot like Arabic. The plains were gone but I could hear the use of heavy machinery. Grinding gears shrieked as something large rolled over the ground.
