Barely able to open his eyes, a dazed Captain Dawson struggled to concentrate through the numbness in his head. Ever so slowly his senses started to return. Looking up, Dawson made out wispy clouds in the sky. He recognized the smell and bitter taste of salt water. When he noticed his head rocking back and forth, Dawson was startled to realize he was floating on a raft in the ocean.
"Hello my Cap-i-tan," a distinct voice called.
Confused by his whereabouts, Dawson focused on the sounds echoing in his head. Dizzy from a concussion suffered while jumping from his Hurricane, he lay still, listening to the voice calling him.
"Hello my Cap-i-tan."
This time, the words came clearer. Dawson's senses were finally reaching the point of being useful, even capable of telling him about his surroundings. But, a sinking feeling of fear caused his entire body to tense when he started to understand the situation. Captain Dawson was floating in a life raft somewhere in the English Channel, with someone.
"Hello my Cap-i-tan. I am glad to see you are still with me, yes?"
The thick German accent and broken English spoken by the other person in the raft sent chills up Dawson's spine. The man sitting across from him was German, most likely the pilot of an enemy plane he, or one of his men, shot down. Instinctively, the RAF Squadron Leader reached for his side arm. Dawson's sudden movement sent a wave of crippling pain through his body, ending with a sickening pounding in his head.
"I'm afraid you will find your gun is missing," the German pilot explained. "I tossed it into the water. I have found that guns and rubber life rafts do not mix, yes? It could make a hole."
Captain Dawson stopped searching for his weapon. Defiantly, he replied, "No matter. A British ship will soon be here to rescue me. I must advise you that you are now my prisoner."
The German pilot let out a hardy laugh. Leaning over to Dawson he spoke in a soft but firm tone, "I'm afraid, Captain, that you are my prisoner. Soon a German U-boat will pick us up, and you will be sent to one of our fine prisoner-of-war camps."
Sitting up in the raft, Dawson squinted in the bright sunlight while he studied the man across from him. The face of the German pilot had fine features topped by thick, lightly colored hair. The insignias on his tan flight suit indicated he was a Luftwaffe group leader of some sort. Dawson guessed at the man's age. Although he was probably in his mid twenties, the worn look on the German's face made him seem older than his years.
"You forget, old chap, this is the English Channel," Dawson reminded his raft mate.
The other pilot laughed once more. "We shall make a bet, you and me, about who rescues us first. We will consider it a friendly wager..., between enemies."
While the German spoke, a sparkle of light reflected from the buckle of his belt. The darting flashes caught Dawson's attention, and the grim reality of the situation struck him full force. Strapped to the German pilot's belt was a holster. In the holster rested a pistol. For now, the German was right, Dawson was his prisoner.
Resigned to the situation, Dawson asked, "How did I get here?"
The Luftwaffe pilot put his hands on his knees in preparation to tell the story. Dawson noticed the man's hands were raw and swollen. Obviously in pain, the German remained calm and coolheaded. Even though the other pilot was considered the enemy, for some reason, Dawson was beginning to feel he wasn't a threat.
"You dropped into the water over there," the Luftwaffe pilot started to explain while pointing at the spot. "I could see your head bobbing in the waves. When your parachute fell into the sea, it started to drag you down. I paddled the raft over to you and unstrapped the parachute. Then, I grab your suit and pull you from the water. So we are here together now, yes?"
Dawson listened to the German's story. The last thing he remembered was jumping from his crippled Hurricane and hitting his head on the tail. As the memory slowly came back to him, Dawson lifted his hand to his aching head.
"When I bailed out, I hit my head on the tail of my plane," Dawson recalled. "Then I blacked out."
"Yes, your head. You have a very big bump," the enemy pilot replied.
After a long pause, the German wryly asked Dawson, "Are you not going to ask me how I got here?"
Captain Dawson looked into the soft blue eyes of the German officer. He already knew the answer, but preferred to avoid it. Dawson was confident the man was the pilot of a plane he shot down just before his own plane was hit. He worried that discussing the situation might agitate the otherwise friendly German. Dawson decided it best to say nothing but simply wait to be rescued by someone. Hopefully, someone English.