“Signal that plane away from the island, away from the guns,” Luke commanded. "It must not land there."
“Now, bunkie. You should be more hospitable!”
Luke looked down. Isaiah’s side of the boat was swamping as he stood, grinning at the sky.
“Send the plane away!” Luke shouted, dropping the oars.
“Hey, you can’t order me, we’re not in the same army!”
Luke closed his eyes against the cold, against his terror of the rising water. Against the possibility of causing more death, to the ones who had come for them.
Clouds were again closing in.
Shots peppered out from the island.
No sound of a crash.
Go away, Luke thought at the fogged-over sky, the fog-shrouded sea, you can’t save us.
No sound at all. Had the strange looking airplane left, then? The cold water reached up to his shins. How long would the messages, wrapped in oil cloth and embedded in his boots, survive?
“Sergeant Morgenstern,” he said, “I can’t swim. I can barely float.”
The familiar snort. “And you think I spent my summers on Brighton Beach getting a nice sun tan only? Lie back and take a breath.”
“But —”
“If you please, Lieutenant, sir,” Isaiah spat out. “No more arguing! Sir. Fine time you decide to pull rank, I got to tell you.”
As they were swamped completely, Luke did as he was told. The wooden rowboat descended below them, and then disappeared into the cold darkness. So quietly.
Luke felt Isaiah’s arm, the bandaged one, cross his chest.
“Just breathe,” Isaiah whispered, there at his ear.
The sound of the plane returning. More shots from the island. Splashing, silence. Luke wished the stars would come out before the sea swallowed them. He would like to see the stars.
A wave washed over them. Luke gagged on the salty water. He heard Isaiah’s breathing shorten, saw frosty gasps. He should help, kick. But he couldn’t feel his legs.
Then, the flash of hands, hands with long beautiful fingers, their nails the color of azalea blossoms. Those hands closed in a grip on his shirt, and then hauled him up while Isaiah pushed.
“Ange Lumiere! How do you like our flying duck?” Isabelle Marius asked.
Her husband grumbled something from the pilot’s seat that made her sigh.
“D’accord, alle!” she said over her shoulder before concentrating on Luke again. “There will be no end to Alain’s arrogance, now that this man of mine, in his new toy, can land on water like the Son of God himself!”
She gifted Isaiah with a slow wink. “We know our lieutenant’s habit of taking in strays, sir. You are most welcome.”
"I am the most fortunate of men, tonight, Madame."
"And the other, the shepherd with few words and kind eyes?" she whispered.
"He did not survive."
"May he know the face of God."
That gleaming smile flashed, for them both. “Tuck in your wings, Ange. If your friend weighs less than one of the two depth charges we left behind in Scotland, we should rise into the air well enough.”
As if commanded, the strange aircraft lifted over the water.
Isabelle’s exotic fingers began peeling off his clothing. “Alain is very busy at the controls. So, it falls to me to keep our dear guests warm. This you would like, gentlemen?”
Her laughter chimed like the bells on his sisters’ fancy dance dresses, even over the engine’s roar.