Metal Birds

Chapter 26: Don't you Dare Look Back

Unknown, France (Behind German Lines) May, 1940  

He found himself inwardly wondering if Bella and Andries were okay. He also wondered how long it had been.

It hadn't been disastrously long. Arthur thought it might have been about a day. It was dark in the tent now, and no one had spoken a word since Ludwig had been there. He was sore from sitting or laying there all day, and he couldn't figure out the knot around his wrists, and he really wanted to throw something at someone. His head still hurt too. He wasn't hungry, at least. The bit of bread they'd been given was enough and just before lights out, one of the guardsman had slipped in and snuck them each a piece of a chocolate bar.

They were little pieces, and the small group had been surprised. The guardsman simply looked like he felt bad, seeing how they'd been moping about on the floor all day, and seeing as they'd probably end up somewhere far worse.

Probably.

Arthur sat awkwardly, allowing his eyes to dart about the lights and far between movements outside. The sense of isolation was overwhelming. The silence only made it moreso.

Ludwig had not returned.

He sighed to himself, before pausing as he heard a small sound. It was muffled by the tent and the forest that no doubt surrounded the place. He ignored it, shifting on his back in an attempt to sleep.

Again, there was a small sound. It was birdlike, perhaps a chickadee that had not yet decided to rest. Oddly though, it caught his attention and held it. Once more, the birdlike chirp rang out, sharp but subtle, and he furrowed his brow. Arthur was well aware that Nations could make a multitude of sounds, through years upon years of practice, and through the simply ability to do so. His head was telling him to listen, so it must be important.

The small chirping sound, twice more, and Arthur sat up. He cast a look at the door of the tent, which had long since been shut. He couldn't make out much more than the crack he'd been staring out of earlier. As the soft chirping sounded again, he turned to the back of the tent, before shifting a bit closer to the back, searching for any fold or seam that had gone unnoticed. The chirping sounded, having moved slightly farther away, and he moved to grow close to the bottom corner. It appeared loose.

He paused for a moment, unsure if he was being stupid or not, and also unsure of how to go about mimicking the sound. As the chirp sounded again, farther away, he finally gave in and made in odd sound in reply. It was a bad replication of the chirp, a sharp whistle cut short by nervousness of being caught.

And for what felt like far too long, there was silence.

And it sounded again, slightly closer. He felt a small rush of energy as he attempted to chirp back, badly, and there was another quick chirp in reply. Then there was silence. He was unsure if it was a bird, but his mind was silently reassuring him that it was going to be okay. He cast a glance back at the other men, before looking towards the back of the tent again.

There was a vague shuffling, and a grunt, and Arthur spotted a pair of hands under the back end of the tent. It took all of Arthur not to let out a yelp of surprise as the moonlight peeked inside, and the face of none other than Francis appeared. He was dirtied, his hair a mess and his face and clothes streaked with mud and dirt, either an accident or an attempt at camouflage.

"Angleterre!" Was the relieved whisper that came from the man, and he began to shimmy under the fold of the tent.

"F-Francis, what are you-"

"There isn't much time, we must leave."

"But what about-"

"Shh."