Safe Harbor

| 21 |

"What on earth are you doing?" 

I'm seated on the beach, my feet digging into the warm sand comfortably. I'm near the treeline, not the water this time, where I'd thought I'd be alone. 

Of course, when someone like Marco Casselli is your best friend, you're never truly alone. 

"I'm trying to work this," I say, motioning to the radio in my hands. It's the one dad had given me before we left, and in all honestly, I'd almost forgotten about it. This morning, the 5 of us were moving our stuff out of the hut we had been calling-- although grudgingly-- home, to the 5th tree house that had been completed just last week. 

They were wonderful, and I didn't just think that because a lot of my own sweat and blood had gone into them, but because they truly were. They weren't haphazardly put together shacks; what you'd expect from a crowd like we were, no-- they were magnificent. With Henri and Jean-Luc's technical know-how, they looked like proper buildings, even though they were made largely from wood and held together snugly with the abundance of bolts we had taken from the HMS Cromie. We had created spaces for windows, and made sure there were roofs over our heads in case it rained, of course. Regrettably, there were no ladders, but since we were all capable of climbing the wide, sturdy trees, we agreed it was alright. 

"Alex, this is our only free time all week," Marco complains, bringing me back to the present. "Are you sure you want to be spending it tinkering with that?" He asks.

I grin. "Yep."

With my answer, he flops down next to me with a similar smile. "Alright then, what do you want me to do?"

"Well, I'm trying to figure out if I can even get a signal," I tell him. "I keep turning the knobs but nothing seems to work," I explain.

"Have you lifted the antenna?" He asks, pointing to said piece, still perched into the radio itself.

I give him a sheepish smile. "No..."

I raise it and immediately, the radio begins to crackle static out. 

Marco is just as excited as I am at this point. "Well go on then, start fiddling with the knobs again!"

I do as he says, but all we hear is static. Finally, when I turn them the other way, we hear a voice, and I nearly drop the thing.

"This is London," he says, his voice grave but determined, almost. 

"I know this!" I cry, excitedly, turning to Marco. "Back on the ship, I'd turned it on and I heard him! Oh, what's his bloody name...." I say, trying hard to remember.

"Shhh!" Marco commands. "I'm trying to listen!"

"It is Tuesday November 11th, 1940, otherwise known as Remembrance Day, here in our beloved nation," he says, somberly. "Today we remember those that died in the line of fire during that first great war, all those years ago. Yet, we also remember those that continue to die today, in the midst of this second one," he continues. "There is no forgetting the bravery of those who laid down their lives for us back then, and there will be no forgetting those who do so at this very moment. I ask that everyone listening please observe a moment of silence at this time."

Marco turns to me, his eyes downcast, and I have no doubt I look the same. We sit on the beach, in our mini-paradise, listening in to a world that is no longer ours. 

Finally, the man continues to speak again. "Thank you. To those that continue to fight for us, we salute you. To those, still here in London, braving the tireless onslaught of bombs, we salute you as well. Stay strong, and know that a nation stands behind you--"