Word From Our Defenders
This young pilot in his plane above our heads was connected to Britain, to America by invisible bonds; it was an enormous free world that filled the sky. But the only messages he bore were the messages of death. (1)
A few weeks passed and soon the Italians fell into step with the Parisian lifestyle. Although the neighbours at first disregarded them as fascists, after actually chatting with each other they stole the hearts of those in close locality. The brothers proved a nice break in the routine, a distraction from the raging war just outside the city.
However, the Parisians were soon pulled back to their regularly scheduled programme, and the Vargas brothers were introduced, when the air raid siren calmly echoed through the streets. Many a time had the Germans told, ordered, the civilians to take cover during an air raid, but they never obeyed. They stayed in the streets squinting up at the dull white sky, searching for the proof that the world outside was still alive. At this time, Feliciano was fiddling with the biggest camera in their set of three, cleaning the insides and whatnot. When he heard the siren he first glanced to Francis, who seemed not to be in any sort of distress, so he returned his attention back to the camera.
Suddenly Lovino burst through the door beckoning for Feliciano and the camera to come, and to come quick. Since Feliciano had just finished setting up the large camera to check everything was spick and span, he perched it on his shoulder and ran out to where Lovino was waiting. He was telling Feliciano to start shooting immediately and pointed up at the subject in question. Inky black smoke billowed from an allied plane slowly arcing downwards, leaving a smudgy streak of charcoal on the vacant void of white cloud behind it. It looked close, too close for comfort. Feliciano followed it earnestly with the camera lens until it ducked behind the rooftops and chimneys. Just as the two brothers heard the cracks and booms of a clumsy fighter plane struggling to land, Lovino started trotting towards the crash site. Feliciano followed, and soon they were met with the sight of Parisians swarming around a hunk of metal that had just collided with the earth. All Feliciano could catch with the camera were the horde of people surrounding a balloon of smoke puffing out into the sky. Soon he caught glimpses of uniform; a pilots uniform, and he knew it wasn't American because he didn't recognise it as an American's. The Pilot staggered a bit, with surprise more than anything, but despite everything seemed unscathed. Soon a Parisian coat was thrown over him, much to his astonishment, and he was pulled further into the crowd. German uniforms were on sight almost immediately and checking the wreckage over. The Pilot was invisible right before them, a part of the crowd, now a Parisian. The Germans ordered the Parisians to disperse, and so they did. Lovino ran off in the direction of the scattered Parisians, especially the ones helping the Pilot, trying to squeeze any answers out as soon as possible. After all, that's why they came to Paris in the first place, to show what an occupied Paris was really like.
Feliciano stayed where he was, trying to capture as much footage as possible. As the Germans milled about the carcass and the area surrounding it, Feliciano spotted one striding towards him. It was the same white haired man as the one who had helped Feliciano during his first day in Paris. Feliciano was delighted, and tried to wave while precariously balancing the large video camera on his shoulder.
Gilbert attempted not to catch the girl's eye as he sped up into a trot. He didn't think he'd see her so soon, he was surprised, and oddly pleased.
"I'm sorry, but you can't film here."
The girl turned the lens to the cobbled ground and stopped recording. She looked crestfallen, and Gilbert hating seeing her like that. "I'm sorry, I should leave then." She stepped back.
"No, wait." Now up close, Gilbert couldn't make out whether she was a boy or a girl. He seemed to be attracted to all these androgynous people. "I need the reel of film as well. I was told to destroy it, I'm sorry."
If the girl looked crestfallen before, she looked utterly miserable now. Gilbert bit his lip and glanced back at his superiors, who were still searching around the crash site.
He sucked in a short breath and looked back to her. "Listen, I won't destroy it if you don't want me to." He said in a hushed voice. "If you keep the reel safe and won't tell anyone about it or publish it then I won't need to destroy it."
The girl nodded happily, a contrast to her downhearted self a moment ago. "Of course, thank you, grazie." She stuck out a hand. "I'm Feliciano."
Gilbert took it. "Gilbert. And no problem, just don't tell anyone."
"We'll meet again?" She smiled for the fiftieth time.
"Hopefully. Auf wiedersehen," He paused for a second before adding, "Sweetheart." Then turned to leave.
"Ciao, bello." Feliciano called after him, and consequently Gilbert looked back and smiled before joining his German counterparts. Feliciano didn't think it weird that a German soldier had just called him 'sweetheart.' Then again, he had just called a man beautiful, and he was right. Gilbert was beautiful, there was no denying it. After all, Francis had said not to let gender stop him.
Feliciano decided to stay and watch until the Germans had fenced off and left the site. It was only then did he realise both Lovino and the Pilot were no where to be seen. He decided to backtrack to where he was before, a café they frequented, one that Francis was often seen in the back rooms helping operate the French resistance. Francis knew the owner, and their apartment resided above the café. The owner was unfortunately a Jewish Austrian, and a good friend of Francis. When the Germans came, he disappeared, leaving the café in Francis' hands.
Lovino turned his head upon hearing the bell notifying the inside someone was entering the café. He was stood in the doorway of the back room, and motioned for Feliciano to come closer. The back room was filled with every French resistance fighter in this area, from young boys to elderly women. This was big news; they had actually managed to save an Allied Pilot from the Germans' grasp. The Pilot in question was sat at the front, half unconscious and had blood trickling down his face. The wound was being treated by a kind old man, who was a doctor in a previous life, and who was also listening intently to Francis. Francis was at the front of the room trying to quieten down the eruption of questions from the citizens. Who was he? Where was he going? Where did he come from? Were the Allies winning, or did the Axis have the upper-hand? Were they any closer to liberating Paris? Would the war be over soon? All of which were asked in French to a half comatose man who probably only spoke English. Francis had a job to shut them up and get on with the agenda of the meeting.
"Would you please quieten down? Please?" The questions kept on coming. Francis sighed out of frustration.
"Shut the fuck up!" Lovino managed to stop people from uttering any more words by shouting from the back of the room.
"Thank you." Francis breathed. "As you may know, we have done an amazing feat today by securing the safety of this fine man." He gestured to the Pilot. "However, he may not be safe for long. I suggest he stays in the safest place possible until he recovers and we can find means of getting him out of the city. Either way, we need him out of the sight of the Germans. Any volunteers? It'll only be for a few weeks." Almost every hand in the room went up. "Can anyone speak English?" Every hand lowered until the only ones to be seen were Lovino, Feliciano and Francis'.
"You'll have to take him, Francis." Someone said. "Only you would be able to communicate."
Francis seemed unsure. "Yeah, Francis. We can't take him anywhere else anyway by the looks of him." A woman stated. A few others agreed
An old man perked up then. "Doesn't he already house those Italians? The Pilot will think we're all fascists."
"Well fuck you too." Luckily, Lovino said this in Italian.
The old woman next to him spoke immediately. "Shut up, Maurice. They are two lovely people. And Francis, you said it'll only be a few weeks."
Francis looked back at the Pilot and made his decision with an unconfident statement. "I guess he could stay for a little while."
The rest of the room, except for the Italians, cheered. So at that moment the future of this Pilot was determined.
To be continued...