2 November 1940 (Saturday, 8:46 P.M.)
Lord, help me! The pilot is screaming, and I am too afraid to help him!
I watched his plane explode in midair. It crashed into the bakery next door, and I now fear Mrs. Tuttle's husband might be dead. That sweet old man had been working in the bakery all day, preparing loaves for the patients' rations tomorrow.
Oh, God, how will I break the news to Mrs. Tuttle that she is a widow?
I can only see spitting red flames and blackened rubble. Both the pilot and Mr. Tuttle are doomed.
I do not know if the pilot was German or RAF, but I dare not investigate myself!
Dr. Duckworth refuses to search for survivors anymore, and so the task will fall upon Rob, Joyce and me, if either man is to be saved.
Oh, Lord, the pilot is not dead after all—he is howling even louder outside my window! I can make out the man's body twisting and writhing in the flames! He sounds hysterical and so terribly frightened. Oh, God, he is dying! Burning alive! Never before have I heard a man scream like this—such a haunting, chilling sound!
He is attempting to crawl away from the skeletal remains of his plane, but his legs are mangled and a bright, pulsating light consumes them. Fire coils around the man's hips as if to wrench him back into the bowels of the blaze and devour him!
I am shaking. My pen quivers and my palms have become slick and clammy from sweat. I cannot breathe.
I do not know what to do! If the pilot is a Nazi, surely he will shoot me the moment I announce myself and try to help him. But what if I am wrong? What if the pilot is in the RAF? Either way, I cannot remain hiding in Reverend Lotts' study like a coward any longer. I must help that pilot and find Mr. Tuttle! I must save them because I am a nun and a nurse, and because it is my Christian duty to help people.
I hear Rob's footsteps in the hallway now. He must have heard the screams; he must want to save the man, too.