The Airman's Beacon

Chapter Three

The evening hours were hardly different form the earlier ones, except darkness now permeated everything. As the storm continued to see the outside, the young Englishmen watched over their prisoner by candle light. The German still lay unconscious, utterly unaware of the fever that was consuming his weakened body. No matter how many blankets were piled upon him, he continued to shake violently. His forehead was wet with sweat, his cheeks were flushed, and worst of all, his wounds showed no sign of healing. Although most had ceased to bleed, David feared it was only because there was not much more blood left to come out. David watched him unremittingly, noting every change in his condition. Thomas had curled up in one of the armchairs and had promptly fallen asleep. Lulled by the monotonous sounds outside, the night wore on until even David was asleep at his post. 

Two hours past midnight a sound like that of an explosion ricocheted over the cliffs. Thomas shot awake, his eyes wide as he tried to take in his surroundings. The little room, cracking wall paper, David asleep in the other chair. He took a deep breath and glanced at the other side of the room. As his eyes fell on the German, a flash of light imbued the room with an illumination so powerful it was as if he had gone blind. And then he saw the German's eyes. Wide open, cold, blue, and glassy. 

A second explosion crashed overhead. 

"David," Thomas murmured urgently. "David wake up." 

David grunted. 

"David, it's your German. He's awake." 

"He's what?" David sat up and rubbed his hands across his face. 

"'He's awake." 

Grabbing a candle from the table beside him, David knelt beside the enemy pilot. His eyes were indeed open but he hardly seemed to be awake. He was gazing up at the ceiling, his body completely still. But the tightness in his face revealed clearly that beneath his weakened calmness he was experiencing great pain. 

"Hullo," David whispered. 

The German blinked once. 

"Do you think he can understand us?" David asked, turning around to face Thomas. 

"How would I know? Although it doesn't look like he can understand anyone right now." 

David shook his head, his eyes full of pity for the enemy pilot. The young men fell silent as the wind amplified its force once again. The candle flickered. 

A quiet groan escaped the German's lips and he turned his eyes slowly until they were staring evenly at Thomas's. There was evident fear etched across his features. 

"Don't worry," David smiled. "You are safe here." 

"Hah! And fortunate too," Thomas laughed coldly. "That was a stupid thing to fly on a stormy night, trying to take us by surprise and bomb us in our sleep." 

David glared at his friend sharply from behind the glow of the candle. 

"No." 

Thomas and David froze. Had that weak little moan been a word of response to their conversation? 

Snatching the candle from David's hand, Thomas leaned over the German, placing the flame dangerously near his face. The German cringed. 

"What is your name?" Thomas demanded. 

There was a moment of silence. 

"Please," he murmured his accent thick with the guttural tones of his native language. "Please, don't harm me." 

"Spy!" Thomas shouted, jumping backwards. "He understands our language. What did I tell you? We should never have brought him here. He is a spy!"