Newkirk stood over the pair of downed fliers, shivering in the rain. "Mate, we need to go," he urged.
"I already told you I'm not leaving." The RAF pilot looked up at Newkirk, blue grey eyes narrow. "You can leave."
"Wes, go." The other RAF man feebly pushed at his Flight Lieuetenant. Newkirk swallowed hard. The dim light of his flashlight only conveyed part of the horror the RAF Flying Officer was suffering. Bone jutted through of his trousers and the uneven rasping the man was doing told Newkirk there was most likely internal problems. An acrid smell of burned flesh and coppery blood filled the air. The Flight Lieuetenant clasped the other man close to his chest.
"No." The Flight Lieuetenant bent his head. He murmured something and the battered Flying Officer gave a weak smile.
"How about we get somewhere drier, mates?" Newkirk gestured. "There's a cave nearby. I'll help carry him."
"I'm dying." The wounded man breathed heavily. "There's no use in moving me."
"Will, it'll be all right," the Flight Lieuetenant said softly. He stood, lifting the other man in his arms. Newkirk raised an eyebrow. That took some raw strength. The Flight Lieuetenant jerked his head and Newkirk picked a path to the cave. Wind whistled around them, rattling the trees. The pilot staggered after Newkirk. Fortunately the small cave wasn't far. Newkirk hastily explored the dusty cavern and the other man lurched in. He knelt, carefully placing the injured Flying Officer on the ground. Newkirk averted his gaze. His flashlight now clearly revealed the extensive damage the man had suffered. Splotches of blood darkened the uniform and burnt fragments of cloth fluttered to the cave floor. Newkirk shook his head. The dark haired Flying Officer smiled grimly.
"That bad, huh?"
"Just need a few bandages," Newkirk said.
"I'm Flying Officer Wilcox. This is Flight Lieuetenant Danvers. Will and he's Wesley." Wilcox gasped and then coughed. Blood splattered his lips and Danvers handed him a handkerchief. "Sir, go with him."
"No." The Flight Lieuetenant pulled out another kerchief and began wrapping the shattered tibia.
"Corporal Newkirk. Look, Flight Lieuetenant, I understand your loyalty," Newkirk said slowly. "My orders are to bring you to safety."
"You have." Danvers looked up. "I won't leave him."
Newkirk twitched. "Flight Lieuetenant, sir..."
Ragged coughing interrupted him. Wilcox retched and Danvers pulled the man close to him. He pressed Wilcox's head into his shoulder. When the spasm ended, Wilcox's eyes were closed and his breath came in long, high pitched whines. Danvers cradled him. "Don't leave me, Will," Danvers whispered. "I need you." His hands trembled.
Newkirk bit his lip. He honestly didn't know what to do. He dare not leave the pair behind--the Germans were never far away--yet how could he move the badly injured Flying Officer to Stalag 13? He could leave and come back with more people, maybe even Wilson, but part of him knew Wilcox would never last that long.
"Why don't you go?" Newkirk jerked. Danvers watched him. "I appreciate your help," the Flight Lieuetenant said quietly. "But I won't leave and you shouldn't be caught." His fingers twisted in Wilcox's uniform.
"No disrespect, sir." Newkirk pitched his voice low. "But the Flying Officer--he's not quite--he's bad off, sir."
"I know." Danvers glanced down at the man in his arms. Newkirk handed him a canteen and Danvers cautiously poured a little down Wilcox's throat. "Thank you."
"No problem. Been together awhile?"
Danvers nodded. "Will and I have been flying together since the war started. He's the best navigator I know." Calloused fingers traced a line down Wilcox's cheek.
"I'm sorry," Newkirk lamely said.
Wilcox gasped and Danvers bent his head over him. Newkirk squatted. Danvers' lean fingers straightened Wilcox's hair, cupped his head. "Wes..." Wilcox whimpered.
"Here, love." Newkirk jerked. Flight Lieuetenant Danvers drew his lips over Wilcox's forehead.
"Hurts." Wilcox whispered.
"I know. I'm right here, Will."
"Been good huh?"
"Couldn't ask for better."
Wilcox burrowed closer and Danvers began rocking slowly back and forth, holding the man. Newkirk twitched. "It isn't contagious, Corporal," Danvers said.
Newkirk shrugged. "Not worried about that, mate. You're not the first poof I've met although I didn't think your kind would be a pilot."
The Flight Lieuetenant twisted his neck, eyes sparking. "My kind? I'm British, Corporal, just like you." Danvers studied him. "And the term poof is more than offensive to me."
"Sorry, sir. I don't know what name---"
"Flight Lieuetenant Danvers is fine." Newkirk sat, back to the cold stone.
"Travelled with a circus awhile. There were some people who were like you, um--well, they were good people. A few called themselves poofs. Guess I never thought much about it." Newkirk looked at the Flight Lieuetenant curiously.
"We're people, Corporal."
"Guess I just like birds too much," Newkirk joked.
The Flight Lieuetenant sighed. "Will was engaged when we met."
"Engaged? But..." Newkirk gestured helplessly to Wilcox.
"I don't hate women. Nor does Will."
Newkirk rubbed his hands. "Sorry, mate."
Danvers stroked Wilcox's dark brown hair. "We met at Oxford," he said quietly. "I can't imagine life without him now."
"Oxford? Should have known you were a toff," Newkirk said. To his surprise, Danvers chuckled.
"Will called me that. I was, a bit, I guess." He grinned. "Circus folk?"
"I did get out and about." Newkirk watched Danvers' hands as his long fingers hypnotically kept a steady caressing of Wilcox's hair. Wilcox breathed slowly, shallowly. After a long while, Newkirk straightened. He walked to the still rocking Flight Lieuetenant. "Flight Lieuetenant," he softly said. "Flight Lieuetenant Danvers, he's gone, sir." The Flight Lieuetenant ignored him. Tears streamed down his cheeks yet he was silent, still stroking Wilcox's hair. Newkirk laid a hand on Danvers' shoulder. "We have to go," Newkirk urged. "He's gone, mate."
"He's my life. What will I do without him?"
The words were quiet but ached with emotion. Newkirk clumsily squeezed the man's shoulder. "Come on," he urged. "We have to leave and now."
"I can't leave him."
"Look, we 'aven't time. I'm sorry you lost him but the Krauts are going to be searching and we have to go. Now, come on." Newkirk grasped Danvers' arm and pulled him to his feet. The Flight Lieuetenant resisted for a heartbeat then yielded. He stood about the same height as Colonel Hogan and Newkirk noted his uniform, too,bore blotches of blood. "Are you hurt?" The incredulous look he received made him inwardly wince. "Come on."
Flight Lieuetenant Danvers knelt down, gently closed his friend's eyes. He straightened the body, took a few items from the Flying Officer's pockets, and then stood again. He followed Newkirk silently, so silently Newkirk had to look over his shoulder a few times to make sure the pilot was still there. After the fourth time, the Flight Lieuetenant said softly "I'm still here. Stop worrying."
"We'll get you back to London in less than a fortnight, Flight Lieuetenant."
"No need to hurry."
"Look, I'm right sorry about the Flying Officer and all, I mean, what I said."
"I was the pilot."
Newkirk twitched and turned around. "You can't blame yourself." Danvers stared at him with dull eyes. Newkirk swallowed. He turned down a narrow deer path, Danvers a breath behind. Newkirk glanced at him again, headed for the tree trunk. He slid inside, the other man behind him. Rain dripped down behind them as Danvers closed the trunk. Newkirk jumped down the ladder. "Whew. Bit drier here, sir."
Danvers nodded. "Thank you, Corporal."
"Anytime. Come on, let me introduce you to Colonel Hogan."
Colonel Hogan came around the corner. "Newkirk. Good to see you. I was starting to get worried." He smiled. "See you found a friend."
"Flight Lieuetenant Danvers, sir." Danvers saluted crisply. Hogan returned the salute.
"At ease, Flight Lieuetenant. You wouldn't be Wesley Danvers, would you?"
"Yes, sir."
Hogan raised an eyebrow. "You've done impressive work."
"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Colonel."
"I've heard your name mentioned several times. You and Wilcox have quite a reputation."
Newkirk flinched and Danvers dropped his gaze. "Thank you," Danvers said quietly.
Hogan glanced at Newkirk. "We'll get you some food, a bunk, and hopefully send you on to London in a few days ."
"Thank you."
"I'll show him to the bunk, Colonel."
"Thanks, Newkirk."
Newkirk showed Danvers to the bunk. "We'll get you some dry clothes, Flight Lieuetenant."
"Thank you." Danvers sat on the cot. He shoved back his blond hair.
"Get some rest, Flight Lieuetenant." Newkirk bit his lip. "Sorry about your--partner. I didn't know him but he wanted you safe."
"I know. Thanks." Danvers smiled slightly.
"I'll get some coffee."
"That'd be great."