Tom leant forward over the lined papers and checked the errors with his pencil. He scratched his head. Paidin O'Connor had deserved a D, but he knew how much this exam could mean for the boy. He was brilliant at mathematics and physics, but where geography was concerned the poor lad was a complete disaster. Yet somehow his remark had been right. Tom had heard him say it to one of the other boys as they left the classroom.
" Who cares about geography? The borders are changing every day."

And of course he had been right. Today Moskow was in Russia, tomorrow it could be in Germany. The whole world map had been turned upside down those last years and it didn't look as if it was going to change soon. This very city had been part of the British Empire only a few decades ago. He thanked heaven it wasn't so anymore. In spite of history, he sympathized with the allied cause, but he was happy that at least Ireland had managed to stay neutral in this bloody war. For Tom O'Reily life went on as it always had. He taught the children how to write and how to calculate and of course the Moskow was the capital of Russia.

He marked the incorrect answer and sighed. It'd be such a shame if he had to fail Paidin, but the rules were merciless. Going to university and studying mathematics... The boy knew what he was good at, but somehow it seemed such a distant dream. His parents weren't too wealthy. Paidin's father was a fireman. One of those brave heroes that had been to Belfast after the attacks with Easter. He had certainly saved a lot of lifes, but he wasn't paid accordingly. It was a calling, not something that'd make one rich.

Tom's thoughts drifted away as he reminded himself of Paidin's father. Somehow the raid on Belfast had shocked them all. When the Germans bombed Britain it seemed far away, but Belfast was on their own island. Until then, Mr. O'Connor had just been pumping water out of flooded basements and getting the neighbour's cat out of the trees, but that Easter he had been sent to Belfast to fight the fires of the blitz. Ever since he returned he was a different man. Instead of beer he drank whiskey and he was but a shadow of the cheerful man he used to be. His jokes were cynical and he never sang anymore. God knew what he had seen. He never talked about it.

Tom stared at the radio. He didn't want to turn it on. The few rumours he heard on the streets were bad enough. The whole world was one big battlefield, from Peking to London and from Egypt to Java. If they hadn't been independent he'd now probably be a Wild Goose in some trench... Or dead.

No he wouldn't listen to the news. Instead he'd make himself another cup of tea ond continue correcting the exercises.

He walked to the kitchen en filled the kettle with water. Then he walked to the window and looked at the courtyard where a teenager was playing with his hurley. As he waited till the water would boil, he watched the boy's tricks. Tom had never been good at sports, but he liked watching the acrobatic action. The boy tossed the ball in the air and catched it on the edge of his stick. Then he banged it against the wall and grabbed it. He looked up and waved at Tom.

Tom smiled and wanted to wave back, but then he heard a heavy buzzing sound and he saw how the teenager looked up towards the sky. The humming became louder and soon it was roaring rather than buzzing. It was as if an aircraft was landing on his roof, but still the noise increased.
He opened the window and leant outside, trying to see what was going on. The boy pointed at the clouds above him, but Tom couldn't see anything. The teenager shouted something, but by now the sound was so loud that Tom could only hear the propellers.
Then he spotted them. It wasn't one plane, it was a whole swarm of them!
He looked at them in awe as they soared over the North-Side. Then he blinked. Did he see that right?
He heared a whistling sound and then an explosion so loud he thought his eardrums would burst. Yellow light flashed above the roofs in front of him and a moment later black clouds rose behind the houses.
The sound of the planes waned and just as sudden as they had appeared, they were gone.

Air-raid alarms screamed and he heared the sirens of the fire-trucks.
Tom turned off the fire and put on his coat. They were a neutral country. What was this all about? Why would anyone attack Dublin? He had to see what the target had been.

Tom ran down the stairs and through the streets. As he neared the site he saw that more curious people had gathered to see what was happening.

" Just like '16", an old man said and he shook his head.

But whatever 1916 must have been like, Tom couldn't imagine that the city had ever before burned like this. He wanted to see which building had been hit. Surely there must have been a reason for the raid.

" Halt! This is a restricted area."
A garda kept the crowd away from the site and the people obeyed grudgingly.

Someone pulled Tom's sleeve and as he looked, he saw it was the teenager.
" Did you see 'em, Mr. O'Reily? It was the feckin' Jerries. They mistook us for English. Say, isn't tha' the street where Paidin O'Connor lives?"

Tom realized he was right and he swallowed a lump. Paidin and his folks could be all dead! Just a minute ago he had been checking his geography exam and now he could be perishing in the flames...

He went to the garda.
" Are there any casualties?'
" I don't know."

Tom looked around nervously, but then the teenager tapped him once again.

" If you're searchin' for Paidin, he's over there."

And he pointed at a little boy who was standing in front of his parents. Tears were rolling over their cheeks as they stared at the flames and the ruins of their street, but at least they were alife...