To start off, I am one hell of a military enthusiast. I went to Kursk, around 1999/2000. The battle of Kursk (for those of you who don't know) was a serious battle in the second World War. While myself and some tour guides walked around near this field, one of them pointed out a metallic reflection flashing near the upside of a nearby hill. We walked over and found a German plane wreck, all snarled up onto some rocks. I whipped out my camera and took a few photos.
Our tour guide started telling us more about the war, and how plane wrecks were rare around these parts because during Kursk not many planes were reported lost. Naturally, we were extremely excited and tried to dig through the wreck. The only thing we really found was a journal-like handbook under the name of "Oscar Beschtam" (Ozcar Beshham). That's when things started getting interesting. It was a 202 page present-war diary describing what it was like fighting in the skies. What we found was bizarre, and a little bit shocking, actually. The following is taken from a real diary.
Monday, July 5th, 1943:
Our comrades have started operation "Citadel" and have started moving in. We have not seen any action yet, but I am still extremely scared about going into battle. I have seen many lives taken and have also been wounded myself, taking critical damage to my left leg. I do not wish to proceed to this battle. Adolf Hitler doesn't know what he's doing.
Tuesday, July 6th, 1943:
We saw some action today. We had to do several bombing runs over the fields of Kursk, taking some Soviet artillery. To make a long story short, we took 5-6 miles of Soviet territory. The 9th army, our platoon, took a mini victory of taking some of Russia. Although, some of the twists weren't as simple. We just finished up a dogfight between two Shturmoviks, but we noticed what we thought was an Avro Lancaster. We became very puzzled; thinking that Lancasters are more in the French area, we flew up to the mystery plane and fired some warning shots. The plane did not comply. We started attacking it. The plane did not move, and almost instantly became blurred and flew away.
We classified the plane as a UFO, and never talked about it again.
Wednesday, July 7th, 1943:
Our 4 Panzer unit covers 20 miles more of Soviet land! Hooray! Nearing Prokrovka, the battle continues and we see more action. We nearly lost our co-pilot to a Yakolev 3. Our Pilot instructed us to bail, but we kept on going, even if it was freezing from the cracked window. At this time we had been [Unknown Word] with some Heinkel bombers on our side, trying to find our little Lancaster/UFO/Thingy. During our radio discussions, Claude mentioned something about a black, Bomber-like figure doing loops around the fields. I immediately joined the conversation and started talking about my experience. As an interesting thought, a lot more planes had said they had the same scenario. We called it: "The Negronein." (Black-no).
Saturday, July 10th, 1943:
Hoth had to bring up our reinforcements, because the Soviet offensive was very high-standard, taking out a lot of our planes and forcing us back a bit, reclaiming our land. No sighting of the Negronein. So far we have had to come close counter with many more Shturmoviks. They attempted to attack us from the side, but noticing them I was able to strike some of them in their undercarriage, hitting their fuel tank. The 4th Shtur caught fire and bashed into a nearby tree.
Sunday, July 11th, 1943:
Rumor says Stalin made some new commanders, and they're planning some shit on our offensive.
Monday, July 12th, 1943:
After a few bombing runs, we started going off the map to find the Negronein. We found the Negronein, and fired shots at his tail. He did his blurr [Misspelled Word] and started scattering black matter all over our aircraft. It was enough to send us flying through the forest until we finally managed to land in a prarie, way off of our designated area. I am shell shocked with fear.
Monday, July 12th, 1943:
We had to repair and serve again. Pretty pushy, I know. But I still thought that the Negronein, for some reason, was coming to this battle.
Tuesday, July 13th, 1943:
The Negronein didn't come yesterday. We did loops all around the plains where he usually buzzes around. Not even a bit was seen. I'm starting to think that the Negronein is the result of too much alcohol or a British hoax. [Unintelligible Words].
Friday, July 16th, 1943
We crashed. It's cold and dark, and I am more than tired. The Negronein attacked us from our right. I remember hearing the screams of my frontal pilot, as if he was being burned. He was. He finally died and fell out of the plane, 1000 miles up in the sky. I had no choice but to grab the joysticky thing. (I'm a fucking gunner. I was not trained to fly!) I grabbed it and screwed the plane halfway around and tried attacking the Negronein one final time. It did not work, and I crashed the plane and passed out. That's all I remembered before fainting.
I woke to the sound of an inhumane shriek. I looked over my shoulder, to see the Negronein Lancaster. Before I could get a look, I was blinded and thrown off. My brain crashed, and I was almost drunk. I was scratched by something several times, which I could not make out.
When I came to my senses, I saw the negronein 1/2 inches away from my face. It dissolved into it's black, greasy substance... and reformed into a humanoid figure.
Whatever this was,
Was not a Lancaster.
Written by PennyRobot