Sefi was sitting on one of the bar stools as Alfred opened the door to their house. He was staring into his drink, stirring it around with a spoon absentmindedly.

"We're leaving tonight."

Glancing up at the other personification, Sefi hummed, "Good."

As terrible as Alfred was at sensing the mood, he could tell there was something...off. "You ok?"

"As long as we find Arthur, I will be ok." The personification of Israel blinked, quietly continuing, "Because... it's all numb."

"...Numb?"

"There are no more dreams. No more pain. Just a steady...constant... numbness." Their eyes locked.

"Are you saying he might be comatose?"

Sefi looked uncertain. "I... I think he's blocking me out. Purposefully."

Irrational anger caused Alfred to clench his hands into fists. "Why would he block you out if..." he trailed off. If you're essentially one person. But you don't know that, and I shouldn't tell you.

"I don't understand, either." Fingers nervously played with the edge of his shirt. Alfred couldn't help but think that maybe Arthur not communicating with Sefi was for the best.

—

Alfred and Sefi blended in with the crowds of people on the streets, making their way to the cafe, which had been dubbed the rendezvous point. Alfred couldn't find it in himself to smile as commoners danced around him, merrily laughing. It reminded him-painfully- of Arthur.

Lou remained true to his word- A group of pilots loitered around the cafe, throwing catcalls at women who strutted by and elbowing each other. Sighing, Alfred walked up to the rowdy group, and asked, "Is Lou here?"

Stan was the first to reply, pointing back at the cafe with his thumb. "He went 'round the back. Said he needed to talk to someone."

Nodding, Alfred slipped through the shadowed alleyway, and as he approached the back, soft panting could be heard. He slowed, pressed his back against the wall, and tentatively peered around the corner, where he saw Lou.

Oh, and he was definitely talking to someone.

Gideon's arms were thrown around Lou's neck, Lou's arms were secured around Gideon's waist, hands untucking his shirt and crawling sneakily up his back, and both were pressed flush together. Gideon's back was turned toward Alfred, so all Alfred could see was Lou, but he still connected the dots, and his eyes almost popped out of his head.

Jolting, Alfred hid back behind the wall, trying to will down the flush that had most definitely lit up his face, and cleared his throat. "Lou? Where are you?"

He heard rustling, and Lou called back, "Uh, I-I'm right here!"

Pretending that he had just rounded the corner, Alfred stated, "Ready to go?" As if he hadn't noticed Gideon, he smiled. "Gideon? I didn't know you would be coming."

Gideon coughed, his hand obviously covering something on his neck. "Eh... yeah. Lou here just finished talking me into it." He elbowed the taller in the gut, trying to smile pleasantly at Alfred.

Rejoining the group, Alfred asked Lou, "Everyone here?"

"Yeah, except Ezer and a few other newbies. Just in case the Egyptians attack again."

"And the transportation we talked about?" Alfred's voice dropped slightly lower. Since there weren't enough planes, and they couldn't just walk to the border, they'd discussed bringing in something big enough to carry 9 pilots.

A ridiculous grin spread across Lou's face. "Modi's on his way with it."

As if Lou had said the magic words, a large farm truck rolled up, creaking with effort. Modi drove the vehicle, waving at the group of pilots. Alfred chuckled as Lou waved back. "Where did you even get this?"

Modi parked the thing and hopped down, landing right in front of Alfred. "Eh, get it, stole it from a farm- details, details."

—

Alfred drove through the desert roads, wishing he had brought a blanket. It could get cold in Israel at night, and the truck had no heat. He could hear the laughter from the 6 pilots riding in the truck bed, and smiled himself. They're either gonna die on this mission or get kicked out of 101 Squadron for coming along with me. And, knowing that, they came anyway.

Sefi, beside him, was asleep, hair tickling Alfred's arm. How he could be asleep with all the jarring the car did on the rocky, unpaved road, and the loud, excited shouts from the party animals in the back, Alfred didn't know. Modi was on Sefi's other side, quietly observing the desert, elbow on his propped up knee.

Content with their silence, Alfred tried to listen to the chatter coming from the pilots in the truck bed. He could tell Lou was teasing Gideon about something. Stan was playing his harmonica, and Bob was racociously making up words as he sung along. Alfred heard Modi huff in amusement.

The other two pilots, Coleman Goldstein and Maury Mann, whom Alfred didn't know well yet, were quieter, but their laughs usually joined with the others. Looking in the cracked side-mirrors of the truck, he watched Gideon playfully swing a fist at Lou, who danced around the truck precariously, grinning as if he were inebriated.

Overcome with a sense of pride, just as had happened in the cafe, Alfred vainly tried to hold back a smile.

—

9 June 1948

The sun had just peeked above the hills when they arrived at Rosh Haayin, the place Arthur had crashed- right on the border of what was supposed to be Palestine. There was more grass than desert sand, but there were only ruins of houses and other buildings- destroyed in the war that had touched here.

The rowdy group in the back had quieted down, and some were sleeping. Sefi had taken over driving in the early, dark hours of morning, but Alfred found that he couldn't sleep anyway. Not when they were getting closer to finding Arthur.

That's when he heard Gideon shout, "Stop the truck!"

Sefi slammed on the breaks, waking Modi in the process. Sticking his head out the window, Sefi glanced back at the truck bed. "What?"

Gideon hopped down, Lou right behind him, and pointed north. "Do you see that? It looks like-"

"A plane," Alfred finished, almost pushing Sefi out of the car as he leaned forward, staring at the metal glinting in the sunlight. Lou and Gideon jumped back into the truck bed, and the group drove off the road and toward the wreckage.

As they neared, Alfred quickly hopped out of the truck and raced toward the plane, slowing when the smashed, still-smoking metal touched his feet. It was Arthur's Spitfire, completely destroyed, and Alfred was sure no human could have survived a crash of this magnitude. The cockpit was barely identifiable with the propeller sticking through it, having been bent backward from impact. The wings weren't attached to the body, and the tail was smashed, metal twisted in every which way.

It seemed surreal. Alfred felt his hands shaking at the sight of blood, dried and smeared against the sides of the cockpit and dirt below his feet. When they found him, they must have dragged him out. He must have been stabbed by the propeller, or shot by one of the guns from the Egyptian Spitfires.

The group was quiet, most staying in the car. Someone touched Alfred's shoulder. Turning, he saw Modi holding out a tan aviator hat. The symbol of the RAF was imprinted on one side. Blood stained tan on the other side.

A flashback from months ago hit Alfred- as if he were transported back to that moment, he remembered, detail for detail, running into Arthur Kirkland and his Spitfire for the first time. Arthur was staring up at him, all narrowed eyes and angry glares, asking him why he was running from his country, and he had been wearing that hat. The hat that Modi held out for Alfred to take.

"Now we know for certain he's been taken," Modi started. "And by the looks of these tracks-" He pointed to where plane tracks had been imprinted in the dirt. "The Egyptians took off toward one of the most fortified army camps."

"The Arab Legion?"

Modi glanced at Alfred, nodding. "East. And the Arab Legion is based in Transjordan-"

"But they've moved," Sefi called, wind rustling his hair as he stuck his head out the window. Modi and Alfred turned around, watching him as he continued, "They're now in Palestine."

No one questioned him. Maury, still in the truck bed, asked, "How do 9 fighter pilots take a trained army of 10,000?"

Maury's accent hit Alfred, hit him hard, because it sounded so like Arthur's. Trying to calm the pain in his chest, Alfred stared out at where they were headed- where Arthur was being held against his will. Gathering his thoughts, he turned back to his group, most of whom looked uncertain and antsy. "None of you are obliged to be here. Only I am. And if you leave, I won't hold it against you. But, I'll need you to leave your guns."

"Our guns?" Coleman snorted.

"When we get to the border, I'll take Lou and Modi with me, if they stay. The rest of you will make all the noise you can make possible in the truck. You'll be the distraction- shooting at the front lines, setting things on fire- anything you can to lure some of them out and not get your asses blown out of the sky. Lou, Modi, and I will sneak inside, find Arthur, shoot some people, and then get the hell out of there. We'll rendezvous somewhere- I'll figure that out when we scout the land there. And, as underdeveloped as it is, that's my plan."

Alfred was met with silence. Breathing out slowly, he found all number of issues his plan had, and he started to believe some were going to leave, when Gideon said, "I'm in."

Everyone stared at him, some incredulously. His brown eyes only focused on Alfred as he continued. "I never met Arthur. But I would never leave a man behind in enemy hands. So, count me in."

Alfred quelled his rising emotion, and nodded at the young pilot in gratitude. He couldn't help but think, Lou, count your blessings. Someone that loyal is hard to find.

Sefi laughed, head still sticking out the window as Alfred's eyes caught his. "I told you I'd come along, no matter what. That won't change now."

Alfred grinned. He'd always have Sefi.

"Alfred, you bastard." Lou was rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "Of course I'm staying! I like Arthur almost as much as you do."

Modi chuckled, still the only one out of the car and beside the personification of America. "I wouldn't miss this for the world, my friend." His eyes watered as he murmured, only for Alfred's ears, "It's what Eddie and Milton would want, and Ezer, too. And the original 7 stick together, yeah?"

Stan and Bob glanced at each other, smirked, and Stan turned back to Alfred, announcing, "We're in. As long as the angel of death becomes the Squadron logo."

Laughing, Alfred nodded. "I think I can do that."

Coleman shrugged, lighting a cigarette. "It's heroic, and even though I'm probably going to get my ass blown out of the sky-" he grinned at Alfred- "I like the challenge. I'll stick around."

Maury was the last to speak, and sighed, "As stupid as I think your plan is... I want in. He's... he's England, right?" Alfred nodded, smiling as Maury tried to look nonchalant. "I'd do anything for... for my country. Especially the man who is my country."

Alfred watched them all, trying to remember every detail of this moment, because he knew it would never happen again, and maybe one day, he would tell Arthur of this time. Determination tightened his chest. Sefi whistled, grabbing his attention, and gestured at the seat beside him.

Gripping Arthur's aviator hat, Alfred hopped in the truck, Modi right behind him.